The Microphones
Текст песни Sand

i'd like to believe
in one thing that you say to me
would you like to leave?
when i try to talk at all, it all just turns out to be
turn on the stove
in the little tiny rooms that our friends call a home
my head fills with heat
from the knife in your hand to mine
i'd like to understand
what you think about, why it seems so bad
it's only escape
from everything i know i'm weak, i know that i'm sad
turn on the stove
in the little tiny rooms that our friends call a home
my head fills with heat
from the knife in your hand to my sand