Synapse کے بول

A single moment was enough to create this A retinal distraction when a scatter of light Hits and forms an image Perfection is the harshest term The shade of your eyes is a curse, it's a curse Don't look at me Don't look at me It hurts The neurons have fired A torrential surge through the optic nerve I can't find the words The warmth of a body in an empty bed When only the scent is left, only dissent is left It's too late for rational sense, the neurons have fired A single moment was enough to create this A retinal distraction when a scatter of light Hits and forms an image Perfection is the harshest term The shade of your eyes is a curse, it's a curse Don't look at me Don’t look at me It hurts