The White Room

Hey little boy, when I tried to call you you were still in bed
One of us destroyed the other like the dream I had
The room is white and the clock ticks, I see nothing but now I feel sick
Got fifteen pictures taped to the wall I can’t see you in any of them at all
Here is comes, that poison melody plays to me
Will it enter our breeze and kill us while we sleep
That kind of music can kill your mind, I see it coming an apocalyptic sign
I know my thinking is serpentine, One thousand death moons marching in a
crooked line
Well one of us write and the other love
One of us shut up, while the other one talk
That kind of music can kill your mind, I see it coming an apocalyptic sign