The pure eyed country honey Speaks of the lost low-grade golden age The stairwell cigarette smoke are Exhales in the space of his outcast face
And the pay phone corner talker, she smiles With a cut so pure and wild You used to know her in the eyes of the street lights As the cool, over the shoulder witness of the night
Baby, here I am Now, here I am A folk terrorist without a sound With a white trash waste land to shout about With an antique voice to break it down And to scream out about the future burn out
The lost eyed Willie Nelson Gets up and puts his digital boots on Speaking with this 6 AM glam dresser She tells the secrets of how she puts her groove on Know what she told me?
Saying my sweet baby I'll loose my mind, lose my mind There's many many reasons Why I just wasn't made for these times.
Just like some modern billboard baby Saying I dig what you told me about the other side, but could you save me? (save me!) Some post-ironic lady On the wire of some sad fire So fierce andso crazy And the speech making man is so fried As he obsessively checks his mic The talking black cat to the fire chief he writes As the suburbs ignite
Baby, here I am Now, here I am A folk terrorist without a sound With a white trash waste land to shout about With an antique voice to break it down And to scream out about the future burn out
I said baby I will lose my mind lose, my mind There's many many reasons Why I just wasn't made for these times. For these times For these times Oh baby for these timesTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
