[bad word] when memory's old
I am never the first to know
Following the stream up North
Where do people like us float

There is room in my lap
For [bad word]  asses, handclaps
I will never disappear
Forever, I'll be here

Whispering
Morning, keep the streets empty for me

I'm laying down, eating snow
My fur is hot, my tongue is cold
On a bed of spider web
I think of how to change myself

lot of hope in a one man tent
There's no room for innocence
Take me home before the storm
Velvet mites will keep us warm

Whispering
Morning, keep the streets empty for me

Uncover our heads and reveal our souls
We were hungry before we were born