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Under a microscope of apoplectic vision My face on a slide show I looked totally unhinged Forgot the Latin word, the name for this condition Said I felt sick to get attention Now this winter got an excuse to not go home Rented a house out on the coast Flying away I heard a memory, your voice over the engine So full of remorse and apprehension Now that you’re gone Now that I’m out here on my own It won’t be long ‘Til I have to pay for what I’ve done Tell me to stop Tell me to watch the way I talk Because nothing is changing Don’t want to state the obvious Threw up on the ferry ride from Calais back to Dover As pale as the white cliffs that we faced Wasn’t afraid, eventualities, just knew that it was over No brushes with death could keep us sober If I was in London I’d hold you to everything If we were in Cardiff I’d just sing But I’m stuck in Omaha obsessed with my inventions There isn’t a name for this condition
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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