Locked in misfit hi-tech. it's the high ground Rita Rita. Making out for all the thrill of it. Six of them all got a reason. . And your mouth outlined with fire.
O Peggy Gordon, You are my darling. Come sit you down upon my knee. And tell to me the very reason. Why I am slighted so by thee. . I am so deep in love that I can't deny it.
Petit poulet. Tout c'est okay. Maintenant bebe tout c'est okay. The life you left behind won't find you. The love you kept inside will come. And even when your own heart blinds you.
Well it's by the hush, me boys, and sure that's to hold your noise. And listen to poor Paddy's sad narration. I was by hunger stressed, and in poverty distressed.
Written by Lindsey Buckingham.. . Oh I was lonely. Oh I was lonely. Oh can we play in the rain. Oh I was crying. Oh I was crying. On can we play in the rain.
Written by Lindsey Buckingham.. . Oh I was lonely. Oh I was lonely. Oh can we play in the rain. Oh I was crying. Oh I was crying. On can we play in the rain.
The looks are - The smile is a lie. The clock drags on - The smoke is in your eyes. You know the blame is someone's. But you don't quite know who. In your mind - if it could only be different in your heart.
Trapped inside these walls surround me. Closing in it's hard to breathe. It's okay I hear the shouting. What is left the will to be. The power. Power of love.
You took away from me, I tried to get it back. And if you lie to me, I keep it to myself. A trick or treat but then that don't make it right. I can't remember when, I could say goodnight.
I walked thru the door and took a seat. Listening to words. That seem to bounce right off my chest. Like I heard it all before. Teach an old dog the same old trick.
When I look up at the stars at night. What could I find beyond the light. A hundred million worlds that we ignore. Who can restrain Pleiades's. Or know the laws of heavenly's.
She was a white skinned black beauty. The daughter of an Indian. Her grandparents raised her in northern Illinois. I call her mother. . She was calling love.
Well I dreamed that I was Portuguese. Inside my hotel room. the word upon these beautiful streets. sweet poetry is born here. who knew these dreams inside my head.
Mustache is a symbol of repression and of hate Never trust a man with a butt. broom on his face It's the facial marking of the man who holds you down The.
Medium cheese, she is glad to take my order. Long long way from that Lao-Viet border. She fled the jungle, the evil Viet Cong. Pizza Tran, orange county is where you belong.
Play that country tuba, cowboy.. Play that country tuba, cowboy.. Play that country tuba, play that country tuba.. Play that country tuba, cowboy.. . Well musicians' stories have made the rounds.
Hello, no one can get to the phone right now so I'm so sorry I missed your call. I'll see you on Sunday. Good-bye, I love you.. But,. if this is you,.
The sign shed light on who is lonely. Run and hide- I'm alright. Light me, blood clot. I am only a child of light. And I'm going all the way. And I've thrown it all away.