The Days - Acoustic

Lots of haunters in the west
A pretty bright silhouette
As the river rise trough a lie
The houses burn from inside

An innocent, behind the words
A metaphor, continous into curse
My mouth is dry as I get deep
The haunters waiting for me to sleep

Shades and mourns in all this years
I never find the way back home
I cannot find someone else near
I don't know if there's more to come

Days are gone
Days with nothing done
Days are gone
Days with nothing done

But I will
I know that I will
I will
Smile
One more day



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