Alone. A leaky faucet is my metronome. Poverty. It brings creativity in me. Chorus:. In me, I see a light ahead. In me, I know that Im not quite dead.
When the mood is quiet somewhere usually late at night. I've got time to think about what you've been sayin'. If it looks like I don't listen, doesn't mean that I don't care.
Sacred lines melted into one blurry impression.. Note says thanx.. Signed in red.. Pumped here from my heart.. Where would I be without your songs?. Likely making up worse ones..
Breaking day. Finally hours pass and they help. A cityscape. Communities that care and nurture. . I am part of something bigger than the heartache. Wishing wishing you.
Last night I came home but you wasn't there. Found all my things thrown everywhere. No one to talk to, no one to talk to but the blues. . Oh, I read your letter, oh signed, "I love you".
Once, I lived the life of a millionaire. Spent all my money, I just did not care. Taking all my friend out for a good time. We bought bootleg whiskey, champagne and wine.
I've taken in all you bring. An ever moving stream of dramatic evolution. And I've taken in what's happening. And poisoned the well you drink from with.
Searching for higher meaning. I stumble to a fall. Laid you back and forth between the innocence. And the frail days that started on. . And the beginning was never this frightening.
Play dead with life,. hang fire, shadow and splice.. Fight hard and light,. Tie rope, shallow and slide.. Fight hard with life,. hang fire, shadow and splice..
Dark stained windows and split screens,. A town run down right to its knees.. Hope has gone where an icon stood. Ripped and torn by the neighbourhood..
A fatal incision cuts apart. Inject the living, don't you breath too hard. No lines to rehearse, no spell, no curse. It's all or nothing to take til tomorrow.
Hear the walk, if i speak. Turn it into codes. Break it through, through the wall. Bring it up to speed. Innocence drifts away passing through pains. Just one person in a million waiting for that day.
Well almost every night I write a letter. To my mother in old North Carolina. She'll prob'ly cry tomorrow when the mailman meets her out. The way my baby done me is nothing to write home about.
Our bedroom still looks warm and cozy. Like the first time that we closed the door. I can still feel you tremble all over. As your nightgown fell down to the floor.
I've had a beautiful evening. For awhile I've forgot she was gone. Now she's back on my mind how I hate closing time. For there's no place to go but home.
Det var en gang en sommer. i nitten hundre og nitti tre. Hvor alt var s behagelig. og verden var diskret. Om dagen kunne man lese. langsomt i en bok. Om kvelden satt vi rundt et bord.
I've seen you hanging from blistering skies. Holding yourself with a grace that defies. Law after law as well spit in the eye. Fall on me when you come down.
You are nearer than Heaven. I get the feeling I get nearer by the day. I've seen the people go forever descending. It's when we're all inside that summer's on the way.
Post office clerks put up signs. Saying, 'Position Closed'. And secretaries turn off typewriters. And put on their coats. . Janitors padlock the gates.
With some girls it don't matter, who you hang with. With some girls it don't matter, how you talk. And some girls they are easy to be yourself with. But the one girl that I want.