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• Artiste: Happiest Lion
• Titre: The Continents it Divides
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I'm not sure when it is you're coming home Telephones tease the ears with lovers' words There's no evade, escape Pursue the very thing He's called you to I'm a mess, sad to see and speaking less I don't need a friendly face to pity me What's sick to hear and worse to spell? Comparison with this to hell The Atlantic can't swallow that space enough Or throw it's waves hard enough Some have written books on it But I have spat into the expanse I have written you letters telling what I do With all the time that I have spent at home or in lonely rooms All thoughts sound the same When foreign faces learn your name Some might have forgotten it A fault deprived of consequence