| Song | Snow Drums |
| Artist | Piano Magic |
| Album | Low Birth Weight |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Cooper, Drums | |
| Three on the backseat as we drive home from rehearsal | |
| There's snow on the drums | |
| The snare shudders like a cold ghost between my mittens | |
| In the trunk, guitars slide like dead over dead | |
| It's stopped snowing | |
| We think we see foxes | |
| I breathe a canvas on the window to write your name on the landscape | |
| The sky is a grey flint from coast to coast with birds frozen in | |
| Magic Trees share the dashboard with a Playdoh Jesus | |
| Grapelli and Reinhardt lock horns on the radio | |
| I draw a black skull on my jeans, not thinking, through to the skin | |
| The headlamps come on at five | |
| I miss you bad |
| zuo ci : Cooper, Drums | |
| Three on the backseat as we drive home from rehearsal | |
| There' s snow on the drums | |
| The snare shudders like a cold ghost between my mittens | |
| In the trunk, guitars slide like dead over dead | |
| It' s stopped snowing | |
| We think we see foxes | |
| I breathe a canvas on the window to write your name on the landscape | |
| The sky is a grey flint from coast to coast with birds frozen in | |
| Magic Trees share the dashboard with a Playdoh Jesus | |
| Grapelli and Reinhardt lock horns on the radio | |
| I draw a black skull on my jeans, not thinking, through to the skin | |
| The headlamps come on at five | |
| I miss you bad |
| zuò cí : Cooper, Drums | |
| Three on the backseat as we drive home from rehearsal | |
| There' s snow on the drums | |
| The snare shudders like a cold ghost between my mittens | |
| In the trunk, guitars slide like dead over dead | |
| It' s stopped snowing | |
| We think we see foxes | |
| I breathe a canvas on the window to write your name on the landscape | |
| The sky is a grey flint from coast to coast with birds frozen in | |
| Magic Trees share the dashboard with a Playdoh Jesus | |
| Grapelli and Reinhardt lock horns on the radio | |
| I draw a black skull on my jeans, not thinking, through to the skin | |
| The headlamps come on at five | |
| I miss you bad |