Gloomy June - Atlas

So sharp these little knives,

how sweet that sounds of yore.

They cut me out of life,

built this trojan horse.

That shit don’t even hurt,

tickles like a feather.

I’m a space between the lines,

and even this shall pass.

Fadin' Gloomy June.

And I break against your walls,

there’s nothing there to graple.

Come rattle in my heart,

and shoot away my apple.

My head didn’t even move,

tired I stayed open.

I’m a space between the lines,

and even this shall pass.

Fadin' Glommy June.

I set fire to your trees,

looking for some action.

No dice, no jamboree.

Ain’t got no bristol fashion.

Well, that shit don’t even hurt,

tickles like a feather.

I’m a space between the lines,

and even this shall pass.

Fadin' Gloomy June.

So sharp these little knives,

how sweet that sounds of yore.

I’m a space between the lines,

and even this shall pass.

Fadin' Gloomy June.