Cold tile preach what the asphalt say (wersja 3)

Verse 1

Yellow tape flapping on the metal grate

Humming like an eight-o-eight, half past late (late)

Fluorescent wash right across my skin

Brass bell clicking when I step right in

Linoleum cold beneath my sneaker sole

Fingertips tracing on the freezer patrol

Cold bottle sweating right against my grip

Shoulders ticking with the rhythm of the trip (trip)

Pre-Chorus

Light on the glass turning neon green

Avenue humming like a live machine

Tires on the curb, hear that hiss?

Nothing in the room gonna hit like this (this)

Chorus

Cold tile preach what the asphalt say

Pulse in the rib till the sky turns gray (gray)

Step on the square, let the kick drum talk

Body got the gospel of the five a.m. walk (walk)

Verse 2

Register snaps with a nickel ring

Bass in my ankle, metallic string (string)

Countertop scratched with a delivery code

Reading every scuff like an open road

Pavement steam rising past my calf

Shadow in the mirror cut clean in half

Keep the weight low, keep the motion deep

Moving while the rest of the city sleep (sleep)

Pre-Chorus

Light on the glass turning neon green

Avenue humming like a live machine

Tires on the curb, hear that hiss?

Nothing in the room gonna hit like this (this)

Chorus

Cold tile preach what the asphalt say

Pulse in the rib till the sky turns gray (gray)

Step on the square, let the kick drum talk

Body got the gospel of the five a.m. walk (walk)

Bridge

Blink of the awning, blue neon spark

Shoulders cutting right through the dark

Freezer door humming like an organ hums

Blood in the temple like rolling drums (drums)

Every quick step is a holy sign

Heel hits linoleum, right on time

Chorus

Cold tile preach what the asphalt say

Pulse in the rib till the sky turns gray (gray)

Step on the square, let the kick drum talk

Body got the gospel of the five a.m. walk (walk)