Lyrics:

Me lack space in the spirit
The weakday is five stories high
And the deafening different distance
Between the brown bread breakdown and you
Is a delicate delight

Crush cast
Just imagine your impossible impressions
Merchant mercy: message
From morning to night
Hey Miss Brown
Object to the oak
You ought to turn the page
Take a peculiar pen and write
Your own instant
If some body talks to you
Apply for proves
Now
Don't the satisfied with a lack
Everytime you say goodbye
You die a little
Don't take root
Don't retire
Paint the painful page
Otherwise you only ought to track the outline review