And nightly they invade, picking away the scar tissues;
So I can dream without black holes and without white noise.
The city sleeps under cold, delicate stars
Never winning or recovering
And that sound is the crunch of the human spirit breaking
And that sound is the crunch of the human spirit breaking
So I can dream without black holes and without white noise.
The city sleeps under cold, delicate stars
Never winning or recovering
And that sound is the crunch of the human spirit breaking
And that sound is the crunch of the human spirit breaking