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Ripping about the history

domingo, 6 de diciembre de 2009, 15:13

Maybe I've been here before. I know this room, I've walked this floor. I used to live alone before I knew you. I've seen your flag on the marble arch, love is not a victory march, its a cold and its a broken hallelujah.

There was a time you'd let me know what's real and going on below, but now you never show it to me do you? Remember when I moved in you? The holy dark was moving too, and every breath we drew was hallelujah.

Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you. It's not a cry you can hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light. Its a cold and its a broken hallelujah.