Crimes - Wind Thistle lyrics

I started pacing by the scream. Tip toed in slippers maybelline. Bleeding whistle, hollow melted age. A tone beneath the vinyl floor. Above reluctant to the core. A whispered metal, pinching, bitter blade. Wind thistle. In awkward phase. Wind thistle. All I could say The fog was potent as a whip. My body lifted from the tip. A premonition, whether never made.