Gold Age from glint by Stolen Jars

This Fall is our last day
Hours slur my tones, as leaves start to go
But I’m not that fawn you saved
Caught in the past games of a gold age

No, I’m not a follower anymore
Leave me my parts, leave me my home and I’ll be one
Or am I just this colder ache
Caught in the past days
Of some new mistake

Five

shores I let pass away, scars in my bed they, hold me from miles away, hold me just once today

I lost my own name
Caught in some fragile aims
of a calling
am I calling
am I calling
til I’m sold
am I sold


This Fall is our last day
Hours slur my tones, as leaves start to go

• Alternative
• Brooklyn