Thought Industry Sharron Sours lyrics

Before the Atlantic, Pacific desert
I used to travel to England for the holidays

Oh, on yesterday a taxi cab stalled in the driveway
I was perched on the windowsill
Grabbing snow in my hand to watch it melt
My eyes are green to warmth

A wine bottle snoozing with the snow
So pale the face became
Gazing stoic from her backseat
Wine, all heat within my cold
Wine, lug me throughout my hell

What's your name?

I trip around and drown in crowds

And the air was crisp while I passed
Through the trash of Camden
I pulled my coat airtight
And walked towards the last garbage fire

It seems an hour ago
I missed the last train for hollyhead
Across the can of fire
Her face appeared barely alive