Lyrics 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.
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