5 months ago
Seven and Thirteen
Lyrics
The trivial little things left in your wake are beloved
Terminally infected limbs
It is not the firing squad, but the blindfold that makes us tense
Loss of perfections leaves no cause to persist in searching
Leaving me longing for the day that finally smothers all hope
Copyright(s): Lyrics © DOMINO PUBLISHING COMPANY
Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
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2 years ago
