Hours
Hours
This is wasted time
On this bed we lie
Think about it now
Think about it
We are all akin
To your pallid age-spotted skin
Feels like wasted time
Think about it
You know I want to go to sleep again
But wasted hours makes difficult
My only chance to be at peace again
Turns to sleepless hours and hours
Hurts like sticks and stones
Cracked my ribs and broke my bones
But it felt nice somehow
When we collided
You know I want to go to sleep again
But wasted hours makes difficult
My only chance to be at peace again
Turns to sleepless hours and hours
Autor(es): Erlend Mokkelbost, Magnus Bechmann
