whiskey sour..

whiskey sour in my throat
like the beating leaving marks
the beating leaving marks
my eyes are sad
my voice is week
some pieces left of me


looking on the floor
picking a piece from every part
shouldn’t it be more
Shouldn’t there be pieces everywhere
shouldn’t i somewhere be able to find my lost heart...

shouldn’t i somewhere be able to find my lost heart...

Whiskey sour in my throat
like the beating leaving marks
the beating leaving marks
My eyes are sad
My voice is week
But there’s still some pieces left of me


From now it will never be the same
still the pieces are a part
but i can fix it
Tomorrow ill be strong
I can fix it tomorrow this is al long gone...

Av Anna Bengtsson 31 jul 2007 17:23