We bathe in the blood moon in Berlin make out in cathedrals

Montreal the Madrid in falling water brush our skin across the bed the Messiah volcano paints our faces in red

Now the landscape in your eye is a desert of defeat I want to stay but I'll turn to leave to a night will abandon all we share

force a deep sleep and pretend we don't care I'd hate to put us up against yesterday. I guess

what can be close must be far away. Because the past-the-past-a-trundtous-a-tous-a-tous-a-tous-a-tous-peular present, if all it is the Passal Kill the President.

If I let it the Passal Kill the Present,

If I'll let it, the Passal Kill the President,

if I let it.

Our dreaming dripping colors of every ruin will never lose ourselves and if I go on

obsessing over color and my memories with the more popping palette than exist

singing.

Lo saturated rains could never fly near but the air front of one hand on the wheel

your brother on my head

moving me through

moving me through moving me through, moving me through. Moving me through.

If ever I forget how much love there is,

it's just I've become fixated on all of the love of the present.

If I'll let it, the future kills the present.

If I'll let it, the future kills the present.

If I'll let it, the future kills the present.

If every head is a world, I don't want to be a destroyer of all things pure in my own.

When I'm running from a day to bear its teeth, I see my own week

...