Sounds,
The summer sun comes down.
I can hardly see the window
From here now.
Here and now.
The snow,
In waves you'll never know,
Through this ever-changing midnight.
Just let it go.
Hey, on this sacred, sun-rinsed day.
They'll sell our cultrue and
They'll sell the ways, the blaming.
Standing still, we'll fall.
Burn this sadness from my soul, babe.
I guess that's all.
Fear, and the sky begins to clear.
Through this ever-changing midnight.
Christmas cheer.
Christmas cheer.
Writer(s): August Cinjun Tate, Joe Ippolito, Cedric Lemoyne
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