Cause there I a house made of black stone,
And it sits at the end of the road.
I抎 paint it red and it抯 forgotten.

Some say. That I抎 disappear
That I抎 disappear.
That I抎 disappear.

This isn抰 automatic.
This is impossible.
We all are far from tragic.
We are like statues of.

This isn抰 automatic.
This is impossible.
We all are far from tragic.
We are like statues of.

It抯 hard t ostand when it抯 all in your head.
Find that black house paint it red.
It抯 hard to feel when you抳e been through this much.
Wanna talk, wanna touch.
It抯 hard to run when you can抰 find your feet.
And I don抰 want your world on me.

Cause on the inside. Everything抯 white,
And I抎 loose myself in it抯 light.
I抎 close the door and get forgotten. Some say.
We are like statues of stone.

This isn抰 automatic.
This is impossible.
We all are far from tragic.
We are like statues of.

This isn抰 automatic.
This is impossible.
We all are far from tragic.
We are like statues of.

This isn抰 automatic.
This is impossible.
We all are far from tragic.
We are like statues of.

Statues of stone.
Statues of stone.

See also:
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62.41
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