Tekster: Pageninetynine. Document #9. The Ghosts Of Shadows Passing In City Streets.

I can hear her footsteps beating closer.
This may be my only chance.
In a shadow of doubt I doubt our shadows kissed in dance.
Without lips or eyes to open or close my hand felt your heart along the cracked pavement.
Ghosts go unnoticed I suppose.
And I've unstitched the seams it seems this is the final farewell.
I've locked myself up.
Up in a room where willows weep.
And you know every time you leave it chokes to breathe.
Into a chest the blackest of blue where the ravens rest.
Waiting to pick.
Pick my heart apart.
They diagnosed schitzophrenia.
But I know it's hypothermia.
Cause this coffin's too cold without you near.
To be alive's a crime when your heart's died