ALBUM REVIEW: Your Arms Are My Cocoon – death of a rabbit
I could be buried here with you.
I could be buried here with you.
The echo is still so loud.
Doing cocaine for Jesus, singing all my songs.
This won’t be the album anyone wanted, or anyone asked for.
To see you at the lights, dreaming before you die.
So is this what it’s like, having a reason to go outside?
What benefit is eloquence if I can’t call and tell my friends that I love them?
I wonder when these moments end, content façade is my pretend.
Mumble quietly as we walk home / ‘I am tired of being alone.