Artist: Jordan Reyne
Album: How The Dead Live
I'd pay the wind to turn it off
You make an ice age from a dry dock.
I'll sit here and
for the steamers to sail.
The quiet earth turns in its sleep
And mountains fall into the sea.
There is nothing else but
As History shook her tired head
I spoke with a man who was already dead
Through yellow clouds of nicotine
He waved dismissive hands at me
You don't know that you're nothing.
I don't like words that talk of pain
And I'm really only waiting.
But it feels like
|6||Proximity Of Death (Blue Eyed Boy)|
|7||Ghosts (Lest We Forget)|
|9||Remembering The Dead|
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|2||Freeing Of Baghdad|
|3||Machines Of B|
|4||Fear Of Flying|
|2||The Tallest Man on Earth|
|5||Noah And The Whale|
|8||The Swell Season|
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