Текст песни
it's a greeting day from the morning sun as the moss grows into light
caving in the averages of time
it's a beautiful lackadaisical ethic from my barren mind
i'm running out of time
the feelings brought from the distant trumpets
separate into the pulsing summits
a mind
covered in this grime
the language brought from the distant trumpets carved into my spine
don't know where to go when they so might