Sleep In Sundays - Someday I Will Be Pure | Текст песни

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• Sleep In Sundays
• Someday I Will Be Pure

So this is where all feeling dies: out in the cold. I've lost the frost on windshields and all I'd dreamed I'd know about you. And ice grows in the evening air, breathing words you can see: "If I am nothing, you are me."

And I want to be where there's no leaves on trees, blue clouds softly passing like your presence next to me. Fingers gently tangled on hardwood floors and Halloween; the things you left behind in me are burning ever silently.

These rooms are just like scrapbooks, but the pictures and locks of hair I find in the scents that fill the heated air. These days I can't stand everything I am. Everyone is making plans...

But instead, I lay in bed, yearning to be pure, like I was, like I will be. And some things are like medicine: you take what you need. Sometimes that is you to me. Sometimes that is you to me.

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