however they posted different lyrics in a myspace blog, but half of them aren't even in the actual song. (at least the song they posted on myspace)
actually i just checked their blog again so i could post what they had, but they changed the lyrics to what i had, which is kind of a bummer because i really liked what they originally posted for the song.. oh well
We've been randomly assigned this disease by the ones who will sell us the air that we breathe and replace the sun with machines. Machines of hostility, hostility exposes the sadness of vertical memory. We can't define it or describe it, it has no real boundaries. Oh, our love is the sadness of vertical memory, with nothing to hold on to. Our love has nothing to hold onto.
Back and forth my, traffic light eyes, blink both in time, "you'll be fine" ,
because the fog has lifted and the machine is on standby.
I believe the red and the green, but our beliefs are our disease. We won't have to hope for the light because the sun is growing. The machine is on standby and we can rise to victory.
But I'll never forget what it was like to not see the hand in front of my traffic light eyes, slowly fade into disrupted horizons, grey and white. A sense of dislocation scanning the noise, a sign. I won't forget, I can't forget, I won't forget, I'm still listening, I'm fine.
Once effectively imprisoned by love, we've reached a new stage; the town loses its fog and we wake to sun the next day.
i put the lyrics in to song form
however they posted different lyrics in a myspace blog, but half of them aren't even in the actual song. (at least the song they posted on myspace)
actually i just checked their blog again so i could post what they had, but they changed the lyrics to what i had, which is kind of a bummer because i really liked what they originally posted for the song.. oh well
found it!
found it!
We've been randomly assigned this disease by the ones who will sell us the air that we breathe and replace the sun with machines. Machines of hostility, hostility exposes the sadness of vertical memory. We can't define it or describe it, it has no real boundaries. Oh, our love is the sadness of vertical memory, with nothing to hold on to. Our love has nothing to hold onto. Back and forth my, traffic light eyes, blink both in time, "you'll be fine" , because the fog has lifted and the machine is on standby. I believe the red and the green, but our beliefs are our disease. We won't have to hope for the light because the sun is growing. The machine is on standby and we can rise to victory. But I'll never forget what it was like to not see the hand in front of my traffic light eyes, slowly fade into disrupted horizons, grey and white. A sense of dislocation scanning the noise, a sign. I won't forget, I can't forget, I won't forget, I'm still listening, I'm fine. Once effectively imprisoned by love, we've reached a new stage; the town loses its fog and we wake to sun the next day.