Birds - Magnus Bein

Well there’s nothing brave about this shallow grave

Where the bones have replaced every cross

There’s no loss or demise in the ice of graveyard flies

Who’ve seen more death than most

And the skeleton host is patching up her black rose

And played out one last time

For this rock and roll band with the Californian tail

Played a bad game of dice

It lies in the skies, for the sun to warm every last soul

And even white flowers grow, on the loneliest days

On the loneliest graves

Well there’s nothing brave about this shallow grave

Where the bones have replaced every cross

There’s no loss or demise in the ice of graveyard flies

Who’ve seen more death than most

It lies in the skies, for the sun to warm every last soul

And even white flowers grow, on the loneliest days

On the loneliest graves

It lies in the skies, for the sun to warm every last soul

And even white flowers grow, on the loneliest days

On the loneliest graves

Love is in the skies