scuse abbassa le pretese, su con le difese parole su parole su parole su parole... Il grillo era li' stanco di aspettare il mondo andava in pezzi
Tonight I?ll have a look And try to find my face again Buried beneath this house My spirit screams and dies again Out back a monster wears a cloak of
In the depths of my mind I laid sleeping Well i had such a dream when I woke I was weeping The vision i saw danced around me And my heart saw the things
(Instrumental)
Mais rien ne semble change C'est bon d'ouvrir les grilles de sa maison Dans le jardin tout fleuri Tu es la qui me souris C'est bon d'ouvrir les grilles
Mr. Bourbon and coke laughs at all of my jokes When he's drinking Mr. Martini stares and he never shares What he's thinking And Miss. Sexy red wine tells
Here at the end, pathetic again But I'll hang your clothes on the line, on the line Curse all the soldiers, I swear that I'll hold ya When gentle days
Tonight I'll have a look and try to find my face again Buried beneath this house my spirit screams and dies again Outback a monster wears a cloak of Persian
In the depths of my mind I laid sleeping Well, I had such a dream when I woke I was weeping The vision I saw danced around me And my heart saw the things
You told me that your 20 years have gone by much too fast And you've been hoping this year will be better than the last You said you've been waging a
Try to understand it, Though it's very hard to see The reason we are living No longer seems to be Revolution's coming The chaos will soon end We've reached
You don't know if it's bread or toast. You can see it but it's bathed in Ambiguous Red Light. At what point does bread become toast? Should you hit the
Er dachte nur an das ganz grosse Ding, doch die Gitter schweigen Und er glaubte daran, da? es ihm gelingt Das ganz gro?e Ding Das Leben ist kurz und
She used to do a topless down at the Surrey Docks With tassels on her whatsits she did a t'riffic job Of raising all the eyebrows of every lunchtime mob
A weathered Monet Takes you to The bottom of a charcoal grill. And the grate above us Is street concrete. Our shrill voices Have nothing left to sing.
