Texty:
Christmas Fuller Project The Philosophy Of Time Travel

I'm not afraid to die?I dove off the Russia on the midnight mid-Atlantic. I'm not afraid of you?I've seen the path from Albion to Calais. I'm not afraid

The wheel runs cold, hands brittle as braking; the road I am taking is making me old. Time slows down, traveling backwards, examining your words for

When I lay and close my eyes, I roll over onto my side and sleep. And now and then I view a scene from the faintest, sweetest dream of you. You run,

If I were a wise man standing in circles on a white submarine, oh all the places we'd go. And if I saw the world through colors on a canvas and a song

I don't have the patience for the problems that I've got. If I don't use your name it's 'cause I'm scared that I forgot. I can't explain the way the

do? Where do I go? Am I the same? I walked out on myself. Out on myself. And the ghost said ooh. And the ghost screamed ooh. And I lost track of time