say I love you but it ain't true I'm walking away now One step forward and back two I'd like to grab you by the hair And hang you up from the heavens
same mirror With his eyes a little clearer Read what the reflection's sending, This is only the beginning. My dead end girl My dead end girl No, dead end girl No, dead
the same mirror With his eyes a little clearer We watched the reflection standing This is only the beginning My dead end girl My dead end girl No, dead end girl No, dead
Traduction: The Dead Weather. Hang You From The Heavens.
Traduction: Ciel. Dead End Girl.
Traduction: Turin Brakes. Ciel Dead.
think I love you but it ain't true I'm walking away now One step forward and back two I like to grab you by the hair and hang you up from the heavens
You think I love you but it ain't true I'm walking away now One step forward and back two I like to grab you by the hair and hang you up from the heavens
in the same mirror With his eyes a little clearer We watched the reflection standing This is only the beginning My dead end girl My dead end girl No, dead end girl No, dead
Heaven Now don't you be afraid We can always talk about No need to medicate Cuz I know you're strong without it You got me through the days When I thought
arms again The golden age we're celebrating creeps out of the womb of the same old lie A child of tyranny and hatred A heaven for the chosen few
about you everyday I'm alone now in my bed And there's a lake And at the bottom you'll find all our friends They don't swim cause they're all dead We
But you're the apple of my eye anyway The smile on your face, It's on your plate... It's on a silver plate So they say, They say in heaven There's
Jay Tee) [Don Cisco] Yeah Uh, you know, we always hope we do the right thang Tryin' to do my thang [Chorus: Don Cisco] With my momma up in heaven Hope
love For those about to love : I reject you Dead lion reef Did you ever know that the perfect drug got tits ? Dead lion reef-oh ! Your heaven, I'll never
don't know much of nothing Even if one of them was to read the newspaper Cover-to-cover That ain't what's going on Journalism's dead and gone Frail
her son is somewhere grindin Some where rhymin, or somewhere climbing Out of a pottable 760, inclasable very sticky Wit a handgun, to send these cowards to Heaven
