Paroles de la chanson Make A Move par Les Comptes De Korsakoff
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Paroles de la chanson Make A Move par Les Comptes De Korsakoff
How much time again, few minutes maybe.
All this silence, all those memories which are.
Any compromises, acceptance, ease…
I don’t listen to them anymore, cause I have to survive.
Slowly he comes, I can hear is steps and smell his foam throwing out from his abyssal mouth.
He comes, he comes, he comes, he comes for me.
Now I find myself falling in an endless pit. They’ve dropped me over the roots right above an opening in the trunk. A large open mouth is gulping me down.
Come here, come here, come here.
A large open mouth is gulping me down in his abyssal mouth.
All this silence, all those memories which are.
Any compromises, acceptance, ease…
I don’t listen to them anymore, cause I have to survive.
Slowly he comes, I can hear is steps and smell his foam throwing out from his abyssal mouth.
He comes, he comes, he comes, he comes for me.
Now I find myself falling in an endless pit. They’ve dropped me over the roots right above an opening in the trunk. A large open mouth is gulping me down.
Come here, come here, come here.
A large open mouth is gulping me down in his abyssal mouth.
I’ll find you, and you’ll die.
Slowly, I come to you, to find a reason to live.
Pain will be sharp, but brief.
One step among others, in this life of serve.
Price to pay for your rest and mine.
Embraced in my arms, suffocation, slow dying.
You’ll read in my eyes pages of an ending life. Yours . And of another one which only starts.
Cause around your throat.
My fingers, won’t be a labor tool anymore.
Be proud of it, I’ll carry on my soul the scar of you and on my hands your death marks.
Slowly, I come to you, to find a reason to live.
Pain will be sharp, but brief.
One step among others, in this life of serve.
Price to pay for your rest and mine.
Embraced in my arms, suffocation, slow dying.
You’ll read in my eyes pages of an ending life. Yours . And of another one which only starts.
Cause around your throat.
My fingers, won’t be a labor tool anymore.
Be proud of it, I’ll carry on my soul the scar of you and on my hands your death marks.
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