Vārdi:
Burn The Priest Lies Of Autumn

As the leaves fall yellowing like aged paper, thoughts turn acrid and curl like cigarette smoke rising from a butt ground out on my arm. Step into this

priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building burned. I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime turned Slowly into autumn

priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building burned. I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime turned Slowly into autumn

priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building burned. I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime turned Slowly into autumn

priest wore black on the seventh day and sat stone-faced while the building burned. I waited for you on the running boards, near the cypress trees, while the springtime turned Slowly into autumn