Soft sighs of pleasant escape,
rushing sounds of moaning bells,
fill me to my highest peak.
Kiss the sin in all its glory,
feel the fingertips of sorrow brush your skin,
move to the rythmn of those moaning bells.
Sheets with the aroma of false love,
pleasured highs are gone,
I have done everything wrong.
Rain on the pavement like tears on the floor,
choking sounds of agony,
those moments of rushing skin and breath are burned,
leaving me alone without you. |