The wrinkles on my face are dusty and dark
as the scratches on a record forgotten in the attic
but the night that [bad word] knows all my prayers better
she will clasp me in her arms
she will [bad word] me as a bun
the moon has [bad word] too much
she's drowned into her scotch
but i'll count the sheep,i'll count my breathes,
i'll count the bites on my lips,
the autumn leaves,the can of beer,
the newborn tears,the glasses filled,
the human fears,theunpayed bills,
the fish of the sea
No whale will sing tonight
no zodiac will give me a light
1000 flaming dragonflies
make my way through the ice
but downthere,we are just a number,
a dive into the air,
the memory of a tale
if you could go under my cold and trembling skin
and if you could stop my breathe
Only then you would stop me