bombay bicycle club
my god
All the highs are downwards All your fumble words are spent Paying no attention To the thoughts of your dear friend  No point louder The sound of my power Sink in deeper Further each hour My God  When our flower's fading When our stem begins to fold I will take off quietly Like a bird that flees the cold  No point louder The sound of my power Sink in deeper Further each hour My God  My God  My God  My God  My God  My God  My God