| |
Mad Season - Artificial Red
Artificial red, smoke, poison consumed
In the house of ill repute
Is this the way I spend my days
In recovery of a fatal disease?
On a cloud of pink has to grey
And I'm alone again, yeah
Someone to hold against my own
Alone, untouched is what I crave
Artificial Red, smoke, poison consumed
In the house of ill repute
Is this the place I search for love
When my need is within me, a gift from above?
|
|
| |
|
