8 acessos
Come, take my hand
Let us walk for a while
Your burden of pain
Replaced with a smile
Never so far, only so close
As you melt in your false cradle below
For the peddlers of death
Come calling one more time
Bearing promises of feeling fine
So called friends
Are running loose
Draining you whole
'til you're of no use
Letting go of things you need most
Son,
Early wish
Early grave
Early ghost