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)