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Atlas

Gloomy June

So sharp these little knives,
how sweet that sounds of yore.
They cut me out of life,
built this trojan horse.
That shit don't even hurt,
tickles like a feather.

I'm a space between the lines,
and even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.

And I break against your walls,
there's nothing there to graple.
Come rattle in my heart,
and shoot away my apple.

My head didn't even move,

tired I stayed open.

I'm a space between the lines,
and even this shall pass.
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Fadin' Glommy June.

I set fire to your trees,
looking for some action.

No dice, no jamboree.
Ain't got no bristol fashion.
Well, that shit don't even hurt,
tickles like a feather.
I'm a space between the lines,

and even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.

So sharp these little knives,
how sweet that sounds of yore.
I'm a space between the lines,
and even this shall pass.
Fadin' Gloomy June.