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  • 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
    My God (x7)
  • 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
    My God (x7)