lyrics
This fever has been rather warm,
It's shaking all my bones,
Serpents slip into the sea,
I'm drifting on my back in the weeds,
Falling through this cosmic state,
Grounded to the waves in your wake,
The gates are high,
The water's cold,
It's not a test,
Of importance,
Fantasizing your escape,
A hollow distraction from your ache,
Finally home to something pure,
A moment of solace before you wake,
The gates are high,
The water's cold,
It's not a test,
Of importance.
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