Вершы: Surprises. Tomorrow.

Prada shoulder blades
laid to waste and thrown away
Few have spoke her name
too afraid of what she'd say

In times we've shared in this hopeless race
and I've stared down the nose of my keepers face
and you held my hand
as i held my breath.
and I hope i can see you tomorrow

blades of colored grass
grow so fast, we collapse
few have laid to rest
to a mess, they'd confess

In times we've shared in this hopeless race
and I've stared down the nose of my keepers face
and you held my hand
as i held my breath.
and I hope i can see you tomorrow