Lights behind tired eyes, staring up at all that's true, sights that can't be defined, by anyone but me and you. No grace, or shame, for falling. Lights and tired eyes, staring at you. Sat in a quiet room, our bodies synchronized, try not to speak too soon, or give away what's on my mind. No grace, or shame, for falling. Sat in a quiet room, staring at you.
Written by: Benedict Nightingale, Louise Katja Rackin, Morgan Lloyd-Mathews, Samuel Stacpoole
