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The sound of breath
Inhibited
And your caress
Distributed
Your skin is soft,
Our clothes come off,
The rain it drops,
The pain it stops.
But in the morning pain comes back
The rain is pouring I relax,
My brain does not because it can't.
Stop thinking bout your perfect hands.
And where they went and where they'll move
The wherewithal within insues
The signs were clear but I still lose
My mind when fear comes and consumes.
The coast is clear
I'm mostly here
The goal is near
Your hold is dear
I'm listening
Wishing things
Would come to pass
Our christenings
Belaver’s “Trash” builds from hushed verses to a big, booming crescendo of a chorus, with lyrics that praise finding beauty in darkness. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 14, 2018