I prune trees until they bleed, cut until I look well achieved, I braid a mask of leaves. Fight to find the balance in between the expectations and conditions, melt two blades into one.
There is s a line, a mark where mist turns to clouds. When I find it I'll place a cut, split my spine in half There is a hook on which a rope to me is tied. When I find it I'll cut myself loose.
For seven years in spheres of glass, aiming reflections into dust, we've emptied our trust. Will a kid dare to trust his visions if no one tells him that he can undrape jewels in his eyes.
There is s a line, a mark where mist turns to clouds. When I find it I'll place a cut, split my spine in half There is a hook on which a rope to me is tied. When I find it I'll cut myself loose. We're cold, lone and deceitful to our kind, estranged wild dogs left behind, hunting reflections of the sun.
I prune trees until they bleed, cut until I look well achieved, I braid a mask of leaves.