The Days
The Parking Lot
Lots of haunters in the west
A pretty bright silhouette
As the rivers rises trough a lie
The houses burn from inside
A innocence, behind the words
A metaphor, continous into curse
My mouth is dry as I get deep
The haunters waiting for me to sleep
Shades and mourns in all this years
I never find the way back home
I cannot find someone else near
I don't know if there's more to come
Days are gone
Days with nothing done
Days are gone
Days with nothing done
But I will
I know that I will
I will
Smile
One more day
