St John got gunned down with a cold ‘38 Why don’t we pin him to the sky…. The rarest of the specimens are neatly locked away It’s all in my collection… It’s all in my collection…
You know that bird has flown Can you forgive? A bird you’ll never own
And your love is a graveyard Where the grasses grow low And the people that lie here Knew what you know Now your shovel’s a shot glass and you drink your own toast You’re living your life as a ghost
You see, love is a playground Where the grasses grow low And the people that play here Reap just what they sow And if your shovel’s a shot glass and you drink your own toast You’re living your life as a ghost, a ghost
When your will is gone your dreams will erase When you’re hanging on by your fingernails….
Bring out your finest wines your holy shrines and let them go Freed from the chains of what has remained a life that you don’t want to know The bass and the drums will hammer it home with their marching band of the proud Celebrate ages, all life stages, seas and the winds and the clouds The message’s been written from your prison, see what tomorrow will be See what tomorrow will be
Got every reason to believe that all must decide to break free Was it a tantrum when you said that all the laughs were on me Then I’ll know my bet will win when the saints go marching in Go marching in…. Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
