Songtexte Gloomy June - Atlas

So sharp these little knives,
How sweet that sounds of yore.
They cut me out of life,
Built this trojan horse.
That shit don't even hurt,
Tickles like a feather.

I'm a space between the lines,
And even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.

And I break against your walls,
There's nothing there to graple.
Come rattle in my heart,
And shoot away my apple.

My head didn't even move,

Tired I stayed open.

I'm a space between the lines,
And even this shall pass.
Fadin' Glommy June.

I set fire to your trees,
Looking for some action.

No dice, no jamboree.
Ain't got no bristol fashion.
Well, that shit don't even hurt,
Tickles like a feather.
I'm a space between the lines,

And even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.

So sharp these little knives,
How sweet that sounds of yore.
I'm a space between the lines,
And even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.