Ghost (The)
Red Slippers, Red Wheels
In a traffic jam with sweaty hands/
The kids we hype up just to drop/
These few pretty faces in ugly places/
The small towns where we would never stop/
Shitty scenes and tired schemes/
All this art it makes me sick/
And I always wrote better than I spoke/
You couldn't even read my lips/
Home is where the heart is/
Mine is scattered by miles and time/
On this slow suicide with a pack of smokes and cheap bottle of wine/
Passing trends and passing friends/
Magnets floating in a metal sea/
In a world of ghosts all overdosed/
Placebo pills at the pharmacy/
Arguments and your two sense/
All this talk it makes me sick/
And I always wrote better than I spoke/
You couldn't even read my lips/
In this empty room/
I will live with my mistakes/
Hold this straw untill it's gold/
It will or I will break/
From Letras Mania