Wish that you would open up your living vines to me Understated wanting from the side of the globe Sink my teeth into your neck for comfort Use what's left of me as a drug to get off on
There is only so much said over telegram Everything stops when you get too close to her Stop writing songs about things that never happened There's something sad about the way that you sleep now
I used to understand you How often do you hear that It used to be unwelcome I guess that must mean something
[spoken] "...Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples That liberal shepherds give a grosser name But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them: There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke; When down her weedy trophies and herself Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up: Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes; As one incapable of her own distress Or like a creature native and indued Unto that element: but long it could not be Till that her garments, heavy with their drink Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay To muddy death."
[sung] [?] on the steps of public school [?] pressed so deeply into soft skin You are not your idol, stop acting like a god How often do you close yourself completely off?
I was bitter for a long time, metallic taste Moving my way through with blood on my teeth Twitching, aching fingers for months as I worked You were so supportive and I cannot understand it
Who are you behind when you're singing on your own? Silence is not something that you hold onto for long Who are you behind when you're singing on your own? Silence is not something that you hold onto for long I guess that must mean somethingTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
