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• Artiste: Tiny Moving Parts
• Titre: Headache
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Lets turn back the clock And do this one more time It’s so hard Finding a purpose in my emptiness ‘Cause I am an icicle You are the summer heat A language That I could barely speak There is a headache in my head A pulse in my brain Nothing will ever change (or make sense) There’s nothing at all There’s nothing at all (nothing at all) I prefer this Weight on my chest There’s nothing at all There’s nothing at all Such slim comfort buried in Old pictures (this couch is not as long as I remember) This couch is not as long as I remember A different shape, out of place A different pace Such sudden news That my body can’t shake ‘Cause my stomach won’t stomach the taste Will you hold me like a baby? And tell me the things I need to know I never want to be alone There is a headache in my head A pulse in my brain Nothing will ever change (or make sense) There’s nothing at all There’s nothing at all (nothing at all) There’s nothing at all There’s nothing at all I prefer this weight on my chest There’s nothing at all There’s nothing at all (there’s nothing at all) I prefer this laying on my chest There’s nothing at all