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
