1. |
Red Stripe Holiday
02:58
|
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2. |
When I talk to you
01:40
|
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3. |
Make me a potion
02:12
|
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4. |
Coffee is Regret
03:00
|
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5. |
I Want to go to The Sea
02:14
|
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6. |
If you'd go away
02:09
|
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Is it cheating, If I use what's in this bottle,
To help improve the mood you say I've got is rotten?
Well, if you're really, just gonna lie in hear all day,
glare at me all you want.
You know my skin is double layered.
But I want your sweaty hands,
And I want your shivery arms,
And I want your prickly neck, your blotchy skin,
All on me.
Like I want the shit that I can't get away from.
If theres a truth here.
If there was anything.
To argue about I'd pay you anything,
Just to get that thought out of my head.
My insides are dying.
And i don't understand.
The conscience that keeps you centered,
Calluses, I guess, are older than your voice.
I could be a hermit,
If you'd just go away...
|
||||
7. |
||||
There's mud in my mug and bugs in my blood.
There's mud in my mug and bugs in my blood.
There's dirt on the floor, increasing more and more and more.
Faces on the wall, won't talk they just ignore.
But it keeps the ghosts away,
Its roasting me alive.
It separates the days,
And melts them in my eyes.
Theres a creak by the door like a ship on the shore.
I'll take wire to the head and record what isn't said.
Tubes attached to my eyes flowing mud into your night,
Nightmares come, black as day, you'll wake them away.
There's mud in my mug and bugs in my blood,
There's mud in my mug and bugs in my blood.
|
||||
8. |
I could be a hermit
01:55
|
|||
Is it cheating, If I use what's in this bottle,
To help improve the mood you say I've got is rotten?
Well, if you're really, just gonna lie in here all day,
glare at me all you want.
You know my skin is double layered.
But I want your sweaty hands,
And I want your shivery arms,
And I want your prickly neck, your blotchy skin,
All on me.
Like I want the shit that I can't get away from.
If theres a truth here.
If there was anything.
To argue about I'd pay you anything,
Just to get that thought out of my head.
My insides are dying.
And i don't understand.
The conscience that keeps you centered,
Calluses, I guess, are older than your voice.
I could be a hermit,
If you'd just go away...
|
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