×

Wyszukaj artykuł

Podaj imię i nazwisko autora

Podaj tytuł szukanej piosenki

Make Do And Mend piosenki

Utwory wykonawcy:

Storrow

Do you think that you mean it more When the words run like thieves from your door And you promise yourself that one day it will be alright like it did before? Do you still thank your lucky stars? Count your blessings and shuffle your cards, 'Cause the lights i...

Tell Me

I heard you coming in clear all of last year just like a hundred calling bells, but I fought like hell just to disbelieve my ears. Because life's cruelest trick is to forget that permanence is something that won't stick, and the end will draw you in just l...

Thanks

Well I’ve been wading in your waves up to my chin, sinking slowly deeper as the waves roll in. Losing sight of land, I’m wondering, “How’d I ever trick myself to get back in?” Believe me, there’s no harder thing in this life than believing that happin...

The Line

I never thought it could be so hard We knew the words but who knew they'd reach so far Now we watch as the pages turn and chapters end to tear a childhood apart. I never thought it could end this way growing up getting older every day. You'll find these...

TL

We were kids on that sylvan street where you lived. There were fears, but they were never ours for those years. Like your Grandpa’s car broken down by your front door stairs, we were never meant to move, life couldn’t touch us there. Do your hands shak...

Transparent Seas

I don’t know who you are, and it’s too hard to keep pretending that you’re more than the mark of an old scar that doesn’t hurt anymore. And I’ve grown numb of the fear that everything I’ve done was being controlled by the father, by the son, by t...

Unknowingly Strong

Believe me when I say that there will always be cold days, but the grass is only greener here if you plant it that way. So you can lock yourself away, give up, forget, go back to sleep, or you can realize that there is so much more to life than yeste...

Winter Wasteland

The sun is coming up in the Monday sky, and I could toss and turn until these sheets caught fire. It’s an eight-semester game of chance in this lonely room with these empty hands; eight AM is the last thing on my mind. But I, I can count the ways...