Brisa Roche все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы
- High
Your skin in the smoke of the wood, dinner hour
Makes me high under the violet sky-tower
Look all around us, the cut plants regrow
Leaning like me to get close to your glow
Even in the city there's a rhythm
And it's by this beat that we are driven
One, two, three, four, I still want more
- Whistle
Eighteen coming like thunder
Platinum bangs and you under
Driving high on the Cliffside
Black rocks bared by the low-tide
Vapor-girl
The hissing car
Barely veils
Your fleet of stars