IRC-Galleria

Flicker television.
Like something that is breathing.
I'm dead in bubblegum.
And wishing you were here.

You're where the rain never pours,
it just floods down.
In the places where the insects die,
in the blinking of an eye,
we'll be switching on/off.

Watching all the ash fall.
Well it's just like cigarette snow.
And when I'm stoned,
I'm missing you my dear.
And the light is telling me that I'm alive,
and you know that we'll be
Switching on/off.