Starts, little black nights are the place to be
an everlasting nightmare for all to see.
Pressing on your little pale window face
I can see right through you.
Away from the lights, away from the sights,
away from the little gray pecking birds.
They can feed without you.
What does it mean when we can't change a thing?
Is it better to run, or are we better off hiding?
It continues to be a half hearted affair
with cornerstone cocktails and a feathery glare.
My clothes are off-coloured and my comments don't seem to fit anymore.
I'm left looking through you,
my little pale window faced girl.
I'm left to see through you.
Ends, with the last words that I know.
A reason to run, above all, a reason to go.
It's time to clean,
you little pale window faced girl.
It's getting hard to see through you.
Maybe I don't want to see through you.
