The Burning of Rome - God of Small Things | Текст песни

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• The Burning of Rome
• God of Small Things

Just take the money
And get the hell on out of here
If not for money
Then how in the world
Would you disappear?
I'm not for loving
So get your hands out of my hair
I died for nothing
Don't call my name I'm not even there

I can't even try to tell
Why you'd vandalize yourself
Because your skin can only be cut so deep
Punch open the mouth of Hell
Grab your soul while she exhales
You're too beautiful not to be set free
Please don't kill yourself you belong to me

I'm tired of running
My tendons are torn and I need a rest
This isn't funny
God, pull your dagger out of my breast
I remember living
And searching the world for a better life
I'm tired of running
Please tell the world that I said goodbye

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