Stitches کے بول

Every hour is a season Every minute lasts a day So I sit here picking stitches I find comfort in decay How I long to fill my lungs So tell me how does it feel to Breathe air cold and clean Cos I've been living on my knees Since I was seventeen Thought I was safe beneath the smoke But even under cover I still choke And my wings are clipped but even if they weren't I've not the guts to fly and leave behind the Earth There's no poetry in my soul Just a list of lies I've told And I don't know how much longer I can hold on So my wings are clipped but even if they weren't I've not the guts to fly and leave behind the Earth There's no poetry in my soul Just a list of lies I've told And I don't know how much longer I can hold on.