Sunday, 10 January 2016

The Word - With every breath you drink in the night

by vurtov

You see the Sunday birds swinging low and a fever in your brain only grows and the murder boys are running down the street - you can see 'em from the window from your seat. Hear the sound of the mightiest of guns and the shadows go like ghosts across your room. Oh, take the world and burn it in a spoon. A mercy ship to sail you off to sleep, to where the crimson angels swim the deep. There is no hiding from the mightiest of guns. With every breath you drink in the night, you won't give up your blue without a fight. And looking at the sky there is no pain. 

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