[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 learned to not eat the snow 
My fur is hot, my tongue is cold 
On a bed of spider web 
I think about 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