Uno, due, tre, quattro. . Marinetti Boccioni, Carra Balla Palasechi. Marinetti Boccioni, Carra Balla Palasechi. Futurist manifesto, futurist manifesto.
Uno, due, tre, quattro. . Marinetti Boccioni, Carra Balla Palasechi. Marinetti Boccioni, Carra Balla Palasechi. Futurist manifesto, futurist manifesto.
Legend has it in forty seven. Four thousand bikes met a force of seven. Fourth of July was the time. In a town called Hollister. At the uphill climb. .
Well come tell me your story, I'll tell you mine. Sunday morning communion, standing in a line. Feeling like a cannibal, eating flesh and drinking blood.
Adam ant/marco pirroni. . Just stay out of my face. And get out of this place. Stop pulling my string. If you want a nice face. Boy. . None so dull as spoken word.
Hey sweetie, let's you and me. Get clear, my head, flesh, body and soul. Hey sweetie, in spite all the hangers thrown. Clean out every thing known. . Well, there's no names here, just ties and faces.
Great when you call us. Thank you for staying with us. We missed you all so desperately. But don't blink or you'll miss me. . On a street like this as it were.
Sung to the tune of "y.m.c.a." by the village people. . Antfan, there's no need to feel down. I said antfan, cos' we ain't been around. I said antfan, there's no others in town.
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