Orange domes are heating up my curtain way,
swinging from the trees at Princess Bay.
Orange domes are climbing through my ancient sea,
doesn't really mean that much to me.
Orange domes are bathing in my headache tears,
singing from the hilltop's crystal clear.
Back then I was an ocean,
now I'm only a point.
Secret,
cynical jeweler.
Try looking the other way,
try living another day.
Orange domes are climbing through my ancient sea,
doesn't really mean that much to me.
Orange domes are bathing in my headache tears,
singing from the hilltop's crystal clear.
Back then I was an ocean,
now I'm only a point.
Secret,
cynical jeweler.
Try looking the other way,
try living another day.