Well, I...
In time what's left of me will be sound of my hypnosy.
I'm a murderer of killing,
I'm running,
I'm crowning your rights.
I can teach you a thing,
I beg you wouldn't sleep a wink if I did.
I don't want anyway,
I don't want anyway.
With whispers in our wake,
could I ever mull you?
With red and black and blue hands,
could I ever mull you?
With red and black and blue hands.
Oh,
oh.
With time what there is left of me is in a playground somewhere,
just running around.
We'll be running and laughing and running
and laughing and we'll never run any ground.
Running and laughing and running and
laughing and we'll never run any ground.
Could I ever mull you?
With red and black and blue hands,
could I ever mull you?
Silos like a stream,
run your fingers up the seam,
this hollow ground will be home to us all.
Silos like a stream,
run your fingers up the seam,
this hollow ground will be home to us all.
Oh, oh.