The Interior Lyrics – Inca Babies

Wounded souls lie in my box,
I curse the man who put them there
Drowned and burnt not dead not dead
She scratches the tears from her eyes

Oh, in the interior don’t shout
The tongue is scorched
To the bitter root
Of the Interior

I throw them out
They grow and grow
She has the wounded souls
And, oh

She recalls the bitter root
Find more lyrics at westlyrics.com

Listen to their music here

Disclosure: As an Amazon Associate and an Apple Partner, we earn from qualifying purchases

Inca Babies Lyrics – The Interior

Inca Babies

The Interior