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Shot Through the Fog lyrics
Breaking winter up by shooting numbers from the clock
The cat sleeps on the atlas in Alsace Lorraine
Dreaming long grass and birds on the wire
I have memories no deeper than this glass
And some besides that stretch history twice
In a super 8 film color haze, a scratched nostalgia
That runs through my cogs, shot through the fog
Time taking care of whatever I cared about
So you are lost somewhere in here
Your body, a raft,spinning towards the falls
Your death claimed me too, there were two throats in the noose
But mine now swallows whiskey, mine is not now bruised
The black mouth of this month, bruised lips, black ice
Forms a sickly smile across London's sky
Part of these releases
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- Track 11 on Writers Without Homes
- 10 Already Ghosts
Shot Through the Fog Video
Thanks to
Maddison
for submitting the lyrics.
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