Don't tell me that you love me I've got nothing left in turn Except this empty bag of promises And second degree burns On the tips of my fingers From touching certain fruit That I never should have touched in the first place Well the sky's raining fire But I think I'll go to bed Because there ain't much you can do When it burns down on your head Except pray and beg for mercy From this hell that you created On the corner of Satan and St. Paul And my cup it runneth over And it runs down in my eyes Maybe when I'm a little older I won't tell myself so many lies Well it took me twenty years Just to find myself a pen For to write down all the words Just to scratch them out again I could use another twenty years To fix the last fifteen But it never seems to work to my advantage Now I'm walking here on rusted nails With broken wings and battered sails I told you that I'm leaving But I'm probably telling lies If only I could make it out To Denver, Colorado I'd book it out of Satan and St. PaulTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
