Super700 Gill
your eyes behind the door crackthe food tastes like your
lips smack
your smell sneaks through the flowers
and tortures me for hours
i switch it on and here we go
your voice come through the stereo
in all these narrow spaces
and all these little places
i see some of your faces
to feel is more or less in vain
the only feeling left is pain
to be awake is useless too
one wouldn't wait for nothing new
not even sleep
is a place to withdrew
in all these narrow spaces
and all these little places
i see some of your faces
