Young Alien Type
Bluelighter
In one burning moment
We find our niche.
Eternity waits in the wings,
But the sound of our laughter
Drounds out the hum.
Now is an explosion.
Afterburn not a care,
As a series of burning moments
Becomes the tack paper
In the scrapbook of our lives.
Come dance with the flame.
We find our niche.
Eternity waits in the wings,
But the sound of our laughter
Drounds out the hum.
Now is an explosion.
Afterburn not a care,
As a series of burning moments
Becomes the tack paper
In the scrapbook of our lives.
Come dance with the flame.
