Songtexte:
Holde Flöte

I see the tracers it leaves in the sky A racing stripe canopy for your eye I see it dying fast right through the floor An aftershock of filth and gore

control. Outside of myself. Your problems are not my own. But old habits die hard. Days of coming home to the unknown left a mark. Trying to hold it

Living in what seems to be fiction, I'm on a balcony I light one up, this for those who ever doubted me Than light another, this for those who hold it

in what seems to be fiction, I'm on a balcony I light one up, this for those who ever doubted me Than light another, this for those who hold it down