Round Here - Counting Crows - Counting Crows
Step out the front door like a ghost into a fog; and no one notices the contrast of white on white. In between the moon and you, angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right. I walk in the air, between the rain, through myself and back again where... I don't know. Maria said she's dying, through the door I hear her crying, why? I don't know...
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