Colour of Sound - TELECONVERT

Bring me the right idea or you might fear the words I say to you
Even if you want me to
But you can't stay even if things worked out the way
You really want them to
But you still try and try

Its not superstition, its merely factual fiction
A predetermined boundary of idle thoughts
There's no restriction, it exists to feed your addiction
A predetermined outcome of ideal thoughts

To burn
Our flesh with heat of the sun
This should be fun for everyone
Our bones will feed the worms and weather storms
We're past the point of diminishing returns

Swing me around my gears, keep it spinning until tears
Roll down your face onto the frozen ground
But you can't say that we turned out better this way
Your mind's unsound
We won't see eye to eye

Not superstition, its merely factual fiction
A predetermined boundary of idle thoughts
There's no restriction, it exists to feed your addiction
A predetermined outcome of ideal thoughts

Its not superstition, its merely factual fiction
A predetermined boundary of idle thoughts
There's no restriction, it exists to feed your addiction
A predetermined outcome of ideal thoughts

To burn
Our flesh with heat of the sun
This should be fun for everyone
Our bones will feed the worms and weather storms
We're past the point of diminishing returns

To burn
Our flesh with heat of the sun
This should be fun for everyone
Our bones will feed the worms and weather storms
We're past the point of diminishing returns

To burn
Our flesh with heat of the sun
This should be fun for everyone
Our bones will feed the worms and weather storms
We're past the point of diminishing returns

Written by:
Russ Addison

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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