[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
For 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 moths will keep us warm

Whispering
Morning, keep the streets empty for me