Mimicking the Moths
She spoke in a dead language
Diction bleak, musique concrete
The streetlights seem to twist and turn
As if they're hanging on her every word
There's no one around to hear
And yet, we're overcome with fear
Staring at the screen, looking for something beautiful
Mimicking the moths, buzzing in the light
Call it a sixth sense, call it what you will
A secret look, a silent joke, a dollar from the till
Call it a delusion, or whatever you see fit
A handshake deal, wet cement, things better left unsaid
His eyes begin to water
Crocodile tears that we can all see through
Accountability, in absentia
The perfect cover for the fragile ego
Sweet Icarus carry me into the sun
I wanna see something, see something beautiful
Mimicking the moths, beating themselves to death against the lights
Mimicking the moths
Run run run
Run run rabbit, run
Run run run
Run run rabbit, run
Run run run
Run pig, run
Run run run
Run pig
Call it a sixth sense, call it what you will
A secret look, a silent joke, a dollar from the till
Call it a delusion, or whatever you see fit
A handshake deal, wet cement, things better left unsaid
Diction bleak, musique concrete
The streetlights seem to twist and turn
As if they're hanging on her every word
There's no one around to hear
And yet, we're overcome with fear
Staring at the screen, looking for something beautiful
Mimicking the moths, buzzing in the light
Call it a sixth sense, call it what you will
A secret look, a silent joke, a dollar from the till
Call it a delusion, or whatever you see fit
A handshake deal, wet cement, things better left unsaid
His eyes begin to water
Crocodile tears that we can all see through
Accountability, in absentia
The perfect cover for the fragile ego
Sweet Icarus carry me into the sun
I wanna see something, see something beautiful
Mimicking the moths, beating themselves to death against the lights
Mimicking the moths
Run run run
Run run rabbit, run
Run run run
Run run rabbit, run
Run run run
Run pig, run
Run run run
Run pig
Call it a sixth sense, call it what you will
A secret look, a silent joke, a dollar from the till
Call it a delusion, or whatever you see fit
A handshake deal, wet cement, things better left unsaid
Credits
Writer(s): Quinn Decker
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
Link
© 2024 All rights reserved. Rockol.com S.r.l. Website image policy
Rockol
- Rockol only uses images and photos made available for promotional purposes (“for press use”) by record companies, artist managements and p.r. agencies.
- Said images are used to exert a right to report and a finality of the criticism, in a degraded mode compliant to copyright laws, and exclusively inclosed in our own informative content.
- Only non-exclusive images addressed to newspaper use and, in general, copyright-free are accepted.
- Live photos are published when licensed by photographers whose copyright is quoted.
- Rockol is available to pay the right holder a fair fee should a published image’s author be unknown at the time of publishing.
Feedback
Please immediately report the presence of images possibly not compliant with the above cases so as to quickly verify an improper use: where confirmed, we would immediately proceed to their removal.