cold clasps, the memory filters into something lucid, a salty drop on my brow, a once brilliant residue now over rich, segments collide, is this the place
, cold clasps, the memory filters into something lucid, a salty drop on my brow, a once brilliant residue now over rich, segments collide, is this the
this song's about This jealousy I'll do without Where am I in this fairytale, this nightingale counters what I had in mind and leaves me depressed and