We're aimless, without antic We are the undecided We're blundered, dissatisfied We'll never make up the time
We're burning books of prose and poetry Those fuckers lied to me There's no such thing as art These metaphors are getting overwrit And scrutinized to bits There's no such thing
We're ailing, we're frantic And yet there's nothing wrong here We're hopeless because we hoped for more Than simply doing fine
We're burning books of prose and poetry Those fuckers lied to me There's no such thing as art These metaphors are getting overwrit And scrutinized to bits There's no such thing
Everything we've done Everything we wrote Everything is gone But it doesn't matter now And it didn't matter then Everything was wrong Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |
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