Sleep In Sundays - Stillborn | Текст песни

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• Sleep In Sundays
• Stillborn

I'm not angry, never have been, not after all that we've been through. But I read about all of your mistakes, and I don't want a thing to do with you.

If distance makes the heart grow fond, why do we bear these broken bonds?

It's okay if you don't return my calls, I can pretend that I don't care. There are worse things in this wretched world than never meeting your cold, blank stare. Like: Long lines there at the grocery store, cold coffee, or weak tea. I hate to say it, but you're not as important as you used to be.

The ground still shivers and the wind still sighs. The disdain in the topsoil grows and multiplies.

Let us lick each other's wounds now, that's a start; pumping stagnant blood through stillborn hearts.

Breathless bodies in the coldest grass--I never knew nights could last so long. Boil our bones into the soil now while the trees are whistling a song.

A warm winter's breeze blows through the evening's light. I will build a bed among dying stars tonight.

I will stand at the mouth of this city now. Scream, "Swallow me whole, I hate you anyhow."

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