Testo Fade

From a minute to a day, I'm fed with air that's cut, from the voice the of the weak that knows its not enough.

From a minute to a day, I stand not far apart, from the passing shoulders who thought they stood alone.

Who's that dreaming
Dreaming no truth.

Forgiveness for memory I refuse to know a world.
Who's that dreaming
Dreaming no truth.

Between me and myself I can't meet a world.