Gloves - Intellectual

[Instrumental Intro]

The floor is covered in carpet, the walls are grayish-blue

There's a bookshelf by the window, a desk and chair too

The clock is stuck on six-forty-five

The winter sun says otherwise

A smiling face pierces the clouds

My only sympathy is from the skies

The smell of leaves tinges the air

Only so much more I can bear

The snow outside can move mountains

I need to know how much you care

I put on my gloves, and headed outside

I laced up my boots and ran toward the light

Wash the blood off my gloves

When will I be enough?

Wash the blood off my gloves

When will I be enough?

(Laaa, Laaa, Laaa)

(Tranquil as a forest, but on fire within)