Gill - Super700

Your eyes behind the door crack

The food tastes like your lips smack

Your smell sneaks through the flowers

And tortures me for hours

I switch it on and here we go

Your voice come through the stereo

In all these narrow spaces

And all these little places

I see some of your faces

To feel is more or less in vain

The only feeling left is pain

To be awake is useless too

One wouldn’t wait for nothing new

Not even sleep

Is a place to withdrew

In all these narrow spaces

And all these little places

I see some of your faces