The White Room - Mary Timony

Hey little boy, when I tried to call you you were still in bed

One of us destroyed the other like the dream I had

The room is white and the clock ticks, I see nothing but now I feel sick

Got fifteen pictures taped to the wall I can’t see you in any of them at all

Here is comes, that poison melody plays to me

Will it enter our breeze and kill us while we sleep

That kind of music can kill your mind, I see it coming an apocalyptic sign

I know my thinking is serpentine, One thousand death moons marching in a

crooked line

Well one of us write and the other love

One of us shut up, while the other one talk

That kind of music can kill your mind, I see it coming an apocalyptic sign