Cold Blooded Old Times - Angel Olsen

Cold-blooded old times

Cold-blooded old times

Cold-blooded old times

The type of memories

That turn your bones to glass

Turn your bones to glass

Mother came rushing in

She said we didn’t see a thing

We said we didn’t see a thing

And father left at eight

Nearly splintering the gate

Cold-blooded old times

Cold-blooded old times

Cold-blooded old times

Cold-blooded old times

The type of memories

That turn your bones

Turn your bones to glass

And though you were

Just a little squirrl

You understood every word