The weight of my words are like feathers from a bird. my mouth it moves but you won't hear a thing. 'Cause I've dug myself deep, I managed to fit both my hands and feet.
I speak in verses. Prophecies, and curses. I speak in verses. Prophecies, and curses, I hate my life. . No miracle is coming. Hate you. It's just a hole.
I found my box of letters, lyin' on the ground. The ones you used to write me, before it all went down. I even got a paper cut, tryin' to figure out. What to do with all these memories?.
The nightingale sings a song for free. Sounds like my own symphony. I'm almost hypnotized by the sound. . I wake up and you're not around. Here things are moving very slow.