After too many trips
I cleaned out the rest of the clothes
A palm dragging slow
As I tarnish the place
Tripped again
Falling out of place after this all
Growing rust from the room I fell into
I fell in and out, I fell in and out
I fell in and I fell out
I feel lost space
High ceiling
After too many trips
I cleaned out the rest of the clothes
If you had stayed
A growing fear with the city
And If you had stayed
A growing fear with the city
And If you had stayed
I might not be afraid of the city
At the edge