Artifacts of Being Watched

There are eyes like cotton swabs in the night sounds revealing day, amidst the clatter of motion pictures scored with cello solos
Soft pillows wishing sweet dreams to children of our past which all serve all-spice on six of the seven-courses featuring entrees
Feasting on the simple feeling that time is running out
Unspiraled, looking at the horizon for the first sign of light
Baggage settled curbside, hoping the innocence leaving returns to you upon departure
Feelings depleted from an unknown origin, but salvageable, and I would like to accommodate it



Credits
Writer(s): Benjamin Dickerson
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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