What melancholy magic Has turned a multitude into mush Mandibles drop from shock An old lady at high altitude Whispering hush She slips off her white shoes And grabs her tenor pacifier from its stand Thirty half steps to the microphone Smile on her face Flower in her hand Oh how a crowd can melt When they've been dealt Such a deliciously delicate blow By a barefooted fairy Not with a clang but a whisper Totally stealing the show Fools desire distraction And not take to heart Their faces to their gadgets fall south Ignoring the beauty of a fog on a hill And a kitten with a mouse in its mouth A motley mob settles down And there's hardly a frown As the air in the temple turns to mist A spotlight, a mark and a cleanse of the throat And her microphone gently is kissed You can hear a boot lace And a speck of dust taste As the babe bravely stared down the herb But she played not a note And only one moment spoke These simple and poignant five words You people are totally absurdTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
