Zahir from Moro by Mockbirth

Zahir

She will be a tick,
For his speechless hours.
She will hang herself on the wall.

For his silent rhymes,
his pretty penny wives,
tight did shape the charm round her neck.

She will be a tick. She will be a need.

He then crawls back and forth.
As he paints the room red, she’s blocking her senses, the savage wolves arrive.
Knock the door, squeal the knobs, howl the way down to chill her spine.
He goes on back and forth, be on top so to feel alive.
For mute hours she’ll be his sweet tick-tock.
Holds his breath in her cheeks on the way to the surface light.
As the doubt in her eyes must have made him feel perspired.
But she suits up the man and in white she becomes his bride.
There’s a heart full of him beating fast at her chest’s right side.
And he will knife his way to pleasure for the night.
Knock the door, squeal the knobs, howl his way down to chill her spine. For mute hours she’ll be his sweet life.

• Alternative
• Downtempo
• Trip-Hop
• indie
• Αθήνα