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Super700
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Gill
Your eyes behind the door crack
The food tastes like your lips smack
Your smell sneaks through the flowers
And tortures me for hours
I switch it on and here we go
Your voice come through the stereo
In all these narrow spaces
And all these little places
I see some of your faces
To feel is more or less in vain
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The only feeling left is pain
To be awake is useless too
One wouldn't wait for nothing new
Not even sleep
Is a place to withdrew
In all these narrow spaces
And all these little places
I see some of your faces
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