Nausea
Tomas Parzuchowski
Her eyes, are the color of the dirt
She lies, when she says that she's not hurt
He cried, when he got blood on his shirt
No flies, when he died his body burned
A noise came from behind she swore
Her worries he seems to ignore
She grabs his hand, falls to the floor
He grabs his lighter and lights once more
Her eyes, are the color of the dirt
She lies, when she says that she's not hurt
He cried, when he got blood on his shirt
No flies, when he died his body burned