Withered hand, new dawn.

My first ride, my life comes from inside.

Oh, there may speak feel like I am alive.

And the winter turns to springtime line.

The springtime turns to summer.

We'll discover how we lost another year.

I saw you at the end of the sea.

With a cripple, socially, no world to collide.

When we converse.

We're singing lovers of disease, others at cross.

And we were paid for not having a good time.

And we were paid for not having a good time.

And we were paid for not having a good time.

We stole a buyer when we paid our dues.

We paid our respects.

We wrote confusion in sex.

And on this shoulder by, we wrote the silver shoes.

And the ice turned into water.

And the water turned to gasses.

The speedy glass is all across the island.

And the lips were warm, her hands were cold.

I never thought I'd feel this old.

...