the counter
The warmth that was running through my veins
it now begins to chill.
the initial fervor bcomes stale
the mysticism is dead
words no longer rest on the edge of my breath
they now sit in my head in the form of doubt
now even this winter night with you in cold.
it now begins to chill.
the initial fervor bcomes stale
the mysticism is dead
words no longer rest on the edge of my breath
they now sit in my head in the form of doubt
now even this winter night with you in cold.