Оригинален текст
We only speak through these machines.
Bending blades of grass,
Cutting rings into trees.
I drag myself from this bed we've made,
Our warmth has escaped.
I know these fronts will change.
We only speak through these machines.
Bending blades of grass,
Cutting rings into trees.
I drag myself from this bed we've made,
Our warmth has escaped.
I know these fronts will change.