On the way back from the bar he felt some semblance of a former self This novel will not write itself, however he may play it Deep inside the drawing room, three sisters entertain his crew Romanticize a morbid doom, the children at his feet There is not a taxi cab in sight To rescue me from Petersburg tonight
Daily he would read the news, tie up his busted walking shoes Take the train somewhere else and count his money there Servants in the servants den spit in the food they cook for him And rattle off a list of men they favor more than me But even in maniacal delight They will not shine a smile into the night
I don't think you're understanding me There will no be pulling out of rug from underneath your feet I fall in like the fruit beneath the tree Ripe for you to eatTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
