Emily's house

Everywhere I see, your name is written on my hands.
Will I ever have a little chance of looking to your
face without this feeling of retracting my eyes of vision?

Son, you know how the rainbows that I through away
are the beginning of the plastic memories painted in your main.
Emily was sitting in the rocking chair just waiting
for its love and sometimes she whispered him name
to the silent of the room with a hope of taking back an answer.

Outside the house the trees grew as high as mountains
and the snowflakes we made of stars fallen to the older
piece of wood of her house where she’s now breathing completely alone.

I’m looking for attention; I’m looking for her attention.
How can I love her without as knowing if she loves me too?
The sun once was warm but now it only burns itself, he forgot us.
The name that I can’t hear without feeling a strange sense inside me
doesn’t compare to the beats that I can feel in my ribs when I know
she’s alone with that locked door keeping her hands cold and quiet.

Everywhere I see, I feel your hair shaking with your shoulders.
The smallest sound remembers me your voice
and even the sky looks dark when there isn’t a cloud
behind your head.

Outside the house the trees grew as high as mountains
and the snowflakes we made of stars fallen to the older
piece of wood of her house where she’s now breathing completely alone.

And the snowflakes were made of a cold condensation around
the spikes of the windows and the frame of the door with your name
in the top.
I want the key.