Young Guns - All Our Kings Are Dead

Stiches

Cada hora es una temporada
Cada temporada es un día
Así que me siento aquí recogiendo puntos
Porque me encuentro consuelo en decadencia

Qué ganas de llenar mis pulmones

Dime cómo se siente al
Respirar aire frío y limpio
Porque yo he estado viviendo de rodillas
Desde que tenía diecisiete años

Pensé que estaba a salvo bajo el humo
Pero aún encubierto
Todavía ahogo

Mis alas se recortan, pero incluso si no lo eran
No he agallas para volar y dejar atrás la tierra
No hay poesía en mi alma
Sólo una lista de mentiras que he dicho
Y yo no sé cuánto tiempo más podré aguantar

Credits
Writer(s): Gustav Tomas Wood, John Stuart Taylor, Fraser Macleod Taylor, Simon Mitchell, Benjamin Lloyd Jolliffe
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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