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Press the flowers to my chest, face towards the sun.
I fall back into the nothing.
In blood and symbols of living my perfect nightmare.
We turn, we turn on death.
With words of passion, beauty held on high.
They turn their heads, in truth but alone.
Lips made of passion. Truth and alone.
Behind the old soul we turn, we turn alone.
I fall back into the nothing.
In blood and symbols of living my perfect nightmare.
We turn, we turn on death.
With words of passion, beauty held on high.
They turn their heads, in truth but alone.
Lips made of passion. Truth and alone.
Behind the old soul we turn, we turn alone.
Writer(s): Kevin Czarnik Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
