Phillip Roebuck - Running Home | Текст песни

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• Phillip Roebuck
• Running Home

The planes fly low
So low and humming
I stop my sleeping
I’m running home

The stars aim high
Their frequent shootings
But I will not wish
I’m running home


You cocked your head
In hands of sugar
I ate you right up
I’m running home

I dreamed your face
Became my body
That I would die here
I’m running home

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