Tekster: Tilt. Play Cell. One Day.

It got to resembling a vaudeville show, the show of shows, such comedy =
unserpassed as juvenile theatrics go, but who am I to tell you to =
contain yourself? And who are you to tell me to control it? When we both =
have prepared so carefully. One day you'll know we never meant eachother =
harm in any way, one day you'll know we never meant eachother sorrow, =
gotta keep my distance. I keep sifting through the loot to find the =
stairs, this business burning to the ground, I can't look back my =
hindsight seems to be impared, my outlook has no holds to see out. It's =

starting to hurt when I open my arms too wide, a milky white haze =
invades my vision, my lungs are heavy with your presence as if you were =
standing right behind me, and I can't bring myself to turn around, gotta =
keep my distance.
Submitted by: Mel