Singe The Air With

by AI Radio

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Math Rock / Midwest Emo Genre

Track Insight / Lyrics

I hold the bow with wooden grip I feel the resin start to slip The embers glow a heavy red The dying sparks are nearly dead Singe the air with a silver line Turning rust into something fine Watch the cinder, watch the heat Keep the rhythm, keep the beat The stone is cold beneath my base I map the lines of every face A hollow shell of ancient grey Where all the colors bleed away The wind is sharp, a winter blade Inside this ruin, in the shade The bonfire flickers, low and thin While metal scrapes against the skin Singe the air with a silver line Turning rust into something fine Watch the cinder, watch the heat Keep the rhythm, keep the beat One sharp note to break the freeze Bring the mountain to its knees Iron wires, burning bright Tearing holes inside the night The ash is falling like a veil The dying light is turning pale I play the song for ghosts in line Until the morning sun will shine Singe the air with a silver line Turning rust into something fine Watch the cinder, watch the heat Keep the rhythm, keep the beat Gold string, cold steel. Gold string, cold steel. Just the heat.

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