Look at Them
It's crippling never really knowing
They're huddling where it's always nice
And plus there is a flame of frail and trippy hearts
And swallowed, being small and being still
Following where ever you will
Look at them, they're sensitive
And they inch out, look at them
And plus there is a flame of frail and trippy hearts
And swallowed, being small and being still
Following where ever you will
Autor(es): Robert Pollard
