Слова:
Neal Peterson

Here I sit, I wind my clocks and wait in line If only the truth was free, I'd set them to a date and time We're floating alone inside this tragedy, this

Seize the pain Summer rain drains backwards from my papercup Filling up, Overflow Winter nights, just not right Sometimes we just need a friend, a helping

So here we stand, we seem to rise The circles in the smoke break to hypnotize With my dark thoughts and your bright eyes It's every touch we make that

I'm writing a letter to you, hoping you're better Papercuts on my fingers bleed to prove I can't be wrong One world, one big white canvas to paint your

I take it back, I thought I'd be another key Another track in your distraction But summer's gone and here we stand, bed of clover All our friends have