sports. - On Grass, On Grass | Текст песни

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• sports.
• On Grass, On Grass

I’m sitting on the edge of every word you’ve said.
My mind will wander on
The excuse is growing long.
So while I think and recover my heart still grows fonder.

I’ve fallen into this sleep
That keeps me down on my luck
So I can hardly wake myself.
I can never wake myself, I can never account for anything.

I need a good excuse to replay the scenes inside my head.

But I’m so fucking sick of it.
I’m tired of trying to sleep while
All that I can see is your ghostly complexion, your lack of intellection.
You’re the scabs on my knees; you’re just a fucking disease
But you’re all that I can think about.

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