اصل بول
ENترجمہ ابھی دستیاب نہیں۔ اصل بول دکھائے جا رہے ہیں۔
Words flying out of my mouth
Just like flies look for something dead to be hanging around
I'm rotting inside
When we burn hard, the ashes will be light and soft
Just like a cold night
Sunday morning might be quiet
But I'm not alone if I grab my own hands
Three dead flowers, lying in my garden
It makes sense if all my roots are gone
