The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake. It's the house telling you to close your eyes. And some days I can't even trust myself. Your mind is playing tricks on you my dear.
Il y a des gens sans orgueil qui se résignent à végéter sous notre domination. Ils préfèrent vivre avilis sous notre botte que mourir glorieusement pour la Liberté...
Something about him was decidedly wrong. He was like one of those pictures full of small errors, the kind you could only pick out by searching the image from every angle, and even then, a few always slipped by. On the surface, he seemed perfectly normal, but now and then you would catch a crack, a sideways glance, a moment when his face and his words, his look and his meaning, would not line up. It was like watching two people, one hiding in the other’s skin. And their skin was always too dry, on the verge of cracking and showing the color of the thing beneath.
The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake. It's the house telling you to close your eyes. And some days I can't even trust myself. Your mind is playing tricks on you my dear.
Il y a des gens sans orgueil qui se résignent à végéter sous notre domination. Ils préfèrent vivre avilis sous notre botte que mourir glorieusement pour la Liberté...
The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake. It's the house telling you to close your eyes. And some days I can't even trust myself. Your mind is playing tricks on you my dear.
The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake. It's the house telling you to close your eyes. And some days I can't even trust myself. Your mind is playing tricks on you my dear.
The stairs creak as I sleep, it's keeping me awake. It's the house telling you to close your eyes. And some days I can't even trust myself. Your mind is playing tricks on you my dear.
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