كلمات EDGES

the night's filters do not respond sweat is dropping on the pillow and my mind is in a larger agitation which is pressing the temples echoes of wind / echoes of wind my hand are searching your fingers the death of sleep and the artificial caress i wait for the morning time around the the night in silence the watcher dreams the joy that man was in the garden the devils are waiting echoes of wind / echoes of wind my hands are searching your fingers behind that door there's somebody calling edges have no end