Tekster: Harloe. Number 4.

:
When dead to man

She made wings with the palms of her hands



Ten floors, one breath, hello world.

Nine weeks in bed, why our girl?

Eight lies through eyes hugging skies.

Seven flames, good bye.

Six flames, good bye.

Five mouths irate, this is fate.

Four friends scream hate, sorry is late.

Three piles point miles, go in style.

Two flames, good bye.

One change, good bye.



Hollywood, look what you've done.