A Lack of Color.

Dude.

It's 459a.

Death Cab For Cutie:

I've got a hunger, twisting my stomach into knots.

=

All i see are dark grey clouds
In the distance moving closer with every hour
So when you ask "was something wrong?"
That i think "you're damn right there is but we can't talk about it now.
No, we can't talk about it now."