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Going to Some Damned English City
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The Mountain Goats
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Your skirt was red and flowing Your blouse was blue On the night I locked eyes with you It seemed to me like I hadn't seen your eyes since last December My shredding muscles My popping joints I saw the pupils of your eyes by firelight shrinking down to pinpoints You were poking at the embers There's a cold wind coming off the ocean There's a cold wind coming off the ocean I wet my finger with my tongue and pressed it in the ashes Rubbеd it up against your perfect eyеlashes You said something really important Something pretty seems to have slipped my mind Walls were freezing, so was the floor I didn't want to hurt you anymore You had a sad, sad, friend in front of you That dying fire behind There was a cold wind coming off the ocean There was a cold wind coming off the ocean
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Ton pseudo sera publié. Laisses les champs vide pour rester anonyme.
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