Deaf, blind granite block Content to graze with familiar stock A local lard, not an english black We don't venture into the fog Homeward bound and gagged not twenty steps from the door Dispensable as cooks at sea or journalists sent to war No one found me spellbinding, no one offered me a drink
But by crippled hands at the potters wheel I was given shape and sex appeal Sent to work the graveyard shift at heaven's jdc Legend to the peasants there Lies that caught me unaware
I've wandered into your graces, so how do I get out? I want out
It's been quiet for too long But pompous phrases and alarms can't help you now And every pervert outside of every fence has had his fill of your kids He's clocking out
Such indecisive crusaders A martyr made into a scenic blur Lookout into a left behind with wounded pride No one finds me spellbinding, no one is buying me a drink
I've been fed to the lions Left high and dry by the 8th circle of hell Where are the spoils? I want the ticker tape parade Damn these filthy ratsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
