American War - Bricks

Pink Couch Sessions on the road . More at If You Make White were the walls that encased my body White were the hands that locked me inside White was the color of every other stripe Of the flag that watched over our dreams If labels are limits, then those sirens are blaring Behind us as we fly on by Screaming, “Get back here you dirty sons of bitches Can’t you read that fucking sign?“ White were the sheets upon which I slumbered White were the lights that awoke me White was the noise that echoed do