Lie down slowly,
Don`t want the rush to knock you right out.
Sky high, lonely.
Don`t want to turn out the light.
Turn out the light.
When i`m hot i ought to be shot at,
Can`t talk about life.
When i`m cold break my mould and then out come the knives.
Knives.
Souls will be souls, i was once told.
They`re cold, but bold, i`m out of my mould will i fold?
Will i fold?
This song will be greeted with open arms in the fold's near future. But will it Fold?