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• Artiste: Smog
• Titre: Cold Blooded Old Times
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Cold-blooded old times The type of memories that turns your bones to glass Turns your bones to glass Mother came rushing in she said we didn't see a thing We said we didn't see a thing And father left at eight Nearly splintering the gate Cold-blooded old times The type of memory That turns your bones to glass Turns your bones to glass And though you where Just a little squirrel You understood every word And in this way they gave you clarity A cold-blooded clarity Cold-blooded old times Now how can I stand and laugh with the man Who redefined your body Those cold-blooded old times...