The grave diggers getting stuck in the machine Pickings getting slim, slimmer I hear them say my name Regin-ah, regin-ah, regin-a-ah
Yes I'm putting the boulder to my ear And I still can't hear Whadya think I was an amateur Playin' with my temperature...
If I hear another song about angels If I see another feather on the dumb-box I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey Gonna get me some whiskey now... If I hear another song about angels If I see another feather on the dumb-box I'm gonna go to Babylon and get me some whiskey now
My name is Lucille and I know how you feel I live downstairs I hear you taking out your garbage I hear you loving your girlfriend I hear you loving yourself too I hear you turning your thoughts off I turn mine off too The only thing I hear is you And you don't sound good and you don't sound nice And you don't sound good and you don't sound right
And it get's quiet...
Pavlov's daughter woke up in the morning Heard the bell ring And something deep inside of her made her want to salivate So she lay there drooling on her pillow So she lay there, the sun skimming her skin, and drooling on her pillow Pavlov's daughter And it was far away and hazy like a dream Not a dream, but the ocean, Not the ocean, but forever...
The grave diggers getting stuck in the machine... And it gets quiet... As quiet as an ambulance checking out the neighborhood Waiting for the blade to slip and that final blow, but nothing happens, it's a cruel joke As ironic as a ticker tape parade over the rain forest, As ironic as a ticker tape parade over my head, As ironic as a ticker tape parade over my head going down stream... To where...it isn't... Even... Real...rain... At...all... Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
