Where would he go for fun in this town? How would he sit and bookend days? No, I don't need the poetry More than a moment could upset the need Console for the love, but the love belongs to me
The light, the light, the light, the light The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me The light, the light, the light, the light The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
Mother, I feel the crowds on the turn Took out the windows Moved the stairs And I don't need the comedy Holding the door to my own tragedy Take blame for the hurt, but the hurt belongs to me
The light, the light, the light, the light The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me The light, the light, the light, the light The light, the light, the light, the light that finds me
You must die a little You must exercise You must die a little Bury the keys and get to work You must die a little You must exercise
You must die a little You must hate yourself You must die a little You must die a little You must die a little Bury the keys and get to workTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
