| Fourths us again to come to man | |
| After the season when the sun is bound | |
| It seems like the winter is at her feet | |
| Despite all the flu sign it’s time for me | |
| Sweet is the sound to make homes grey | |
| The sun to the widows who have their say | |
| Lies in the south inside the nose | |
| Dead in the basement to the song | |
| Feels like the autumn burst into the flames | |
| It makes this adequate to call out your name | |
| Passing of the seasons has been felt before | |
| Chills our perceptions of the world before | |
| Carries home on the broken wing | |
| More than a message for the sweet insane |
| Fourths us again to come to man | |
| After the season when the sun is bound | |
| It seems like the winter is at her feet | |
| Despite all the flu sign it' s time for me | |
| Sweet is the sound to make homes grey | |
| The sun to the widows who have their say | |
| Lies in the south inside the nose | |
| Dead in the basement to the song | |
| Feels like the autumn burst into the flames | |
| It makes this adequate to call out your name | |
| Passing of the seasons has been felt before | |
| Chills our perceptions of the world before | |
| Carries home on the broken wing | |
| More than a message for the sweet insane |
| Fourths us again to come to man | |
| After the season when the sun is bound | |
| It seems like the winter is at her feet | |
| Despite all the flu sign it' s time for me | |
| Sweet is the sound to make homes grey | |
| The sun to the widows who have their say | |
| Lies in the south inside the nose | |
| Dead in the basement to the song | |
| Feels like the autumn burst into the flames | |
| It makes this adequate to call out your name | |
| Passing of the seasons has been felt before | |
| Chills our perceptions of the world before | |
| Carries home on the broken wing | |
| More than a message for the sweet insane |
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