Gave my love to 2 thousand yesterdays Nothing is wrong I am always a little late Probably will probably won't Get this disease cut out of my throat All of a sudden you come my way Baby believer I won't be saved by morning after Struggling my name Slave turned to master
History moans Mouth of our father History moans Mouth of our father
Edge of my bed Benzedrine telephone Struggling to speak Sicker than sickest dog Falling faster that a liar's grin We need to be saved from the shit we're in I believe in you I have found The perfect way To bring me down I won't be saved By all your yesterdays Piss on my grave Piss on the underlay
History moans Mouth of our father It's the movement we're afterTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
