I think it was Thursday, I think it was late, Nineteen-thirty eight Got a letter from Hiro, but left out the date He said he was waiting for an outbreak. Took a look in the mirror, should have been me. But there was nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing to see. I draw apart the curtains, trying to look downstairs, it was utterly futile, so I combed my hair.
But all the kids in the factory say, my letter from Hiro came too late.
Communication keeps me out of touch. The sense means nothing, well, nothing much, Like the sign on the door, too hard to see, too soft to touch, The age of reason is out to lunch.
But all the kids in the factory say, my letter from Hiro, came too late.
9 o'clock in the morning, sun rising in my head, And I'm not quite sure if I'm just insecure Or if the problem is simply that we really don't understand About the guns and the crossfire, and the social disease. And while the sun was rising somewhere in the east And then a "frag" meant more to Hiro than to me.
But all the kids in the factory say, my letter from Hiro came too late.
All the kids in the factory say, my letter from Hiro came too late! Too late, too late, too late, too late…Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
