4 acessos
It's another prayer to the patron saint of lost causes
Haitmail written but never sent
She had a voice like a paper cut
But no one else will do
She had a mind that could suck out the poison
It's a gift I never learned how to use
So I drink in the stale air around me
The same old story they're always telling me
Your dream came true
From a thousand million miles away at the edge of space
The voice that makes me sick whispers in my ear again
I strain to hear but my hearing's blurred
A pounding in my heart
A ringing in my head
And I wake up alone
I look around the room
And somehow I've known all along
Which dream came true