I cried myself to sleep last night
And the ghost of Carl, he approached my window
I was hypnotized, I was asked To improvise
On the attitude, the regret of a thousand centuries of death
Even with the heart of terror and the superstitious wearer
I am riding all alone I am writing all alone
Even in my best condition, counting all the superstition
I am riding all alone I am running all alone
And we laughed at the beatitudes of a thousand lines
We were asked, at the attitudes, they reminded us of death
Even with the rest belated, everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
Even in his heart the Devil has to know the water level
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
And I cried myself to sleep last night
For the Earth, and materials, they may sound just right to me
Even with the rest belated, everything is antiquated
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
Even in his heart the Devil has to know the water level
Are you writing from the heart? Are you writing from the heart?
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