(Music: Bowie/Eno/Gabrels/Garson/ Kizilcay/Campbell - Lyrics: Bowie) Poor soul Spit upon that Poor soul He never knew what hit him And it hit him so
prayer can't Travel so far these days The talk of your lives Standing so near Two innocent eyes Poor dunce Swings through the tunnels And claws his way Is small
Traduction: David Bowie. Un petit lopin de terre.
: (Music: Bowie/Eno/Gabrels/Garson/ Kizilcay/Campbell - Lyrics: Bowie) Poor soul Spit upon that Poor soul He never knew what hit him And it hit him