(B. Walkenhorst). There's too many twenties, too many fives. Too many numbers in front of our eyes. Too many statistics that nobody reads. Numbers don't lie but numbers don't bleed.
(B. Walkenhorst). I want to grow old with her. To have our children come. And find us face down on the hill. Listening to the hum. I want to grow wise with her.
(B. Walkenhorst). Who am I, I don't know, I have no idea. When my friends look at me I wonder who they think they're seeing. Search me, layer by layer.
Who am I, I don't know, I have no idea. When my friends look at me I wonder who they think they're seeing. Search me, layer by layer. But inside I'm afraid you'll find thin air.
(B. Walkenhorst). This is the story of siamese twins. Where one fellow stops and another one begins. Joined at the head and the finger and the toe. With two completely separate vascular-cardio.
(B. Walkenhorst). On the day that I was born. Cross the plain come a red dust storm. First the wind, then the rain. Streaks of blood down the windowpane.
(S. Phillips, P. Tomek). Hunger moon shining on a field of snow. There's ice above but a fire down below. Out of the north a cold wind moans. And I'm empty oh so empty.
(B. Walkenhorst). Looking out my window, the eclipse has begun. I grab your hand, we run outside and dance in the dimming sun. Light through the leaves casts a zillion crescents on the ground.
(B. Walkenhorst). Looking out my window, the eclipse has begun. I grab your hand, we run outside and dance in the dimming sun. Light through the leaves casts a zillion crescents on the ground.
(B. Walkenhorst). Hot dot on a printed page. Airbrush every sign of age. Going under the surgeon's knife. Step daughter of a Stepford wife. That ain't what a woman is.
"Downstream" by The Rainmakers from _The_Rainmakers_. ----------------------------------------------------. Well, me and Mark Twain were having us a ball.
(B. Walkenhorst). There was a man named Jim who walked everywhere he went. Cause he could never quite seem to keep his mind on the road. One day it occurred to Jim that he'd taken a wrong turn.
(B. Walkenhorst). There was a man named Jim who walked everywhere he went. Cause he could never quite seem to keep his mind on the road. One day it occurred to Jim that he'd taken a wrong turn.
You and I are worlds away. There's nothing we can do or say. To change the way that all things are. Except to wonder from afar. And contemplate the things we see.
I had two jobs, I had dishwater hands. And on the weekend in a rock and roll band. One Friday night, in my hometown bar. In walked a girl who looked like a movie star.
You wake up. With the radio on. And I've got you babe. Is the same old song. So you walk outside. To greet the world. But it all. Goes up flames. And then you try.
I love these hands so soft and strong. I love these hands they can do no wrong. I love these hands they belong to you. And I will love these hands my life through.
All you good-doers lay your weary heads. Thorn filled pillows on feather beds. Sing your love songs on sunday morning. Close your eyes and we'll. Dream away, my love knows no boundaries.
I know what I want to say to you, my love. But when I try to speak the words slip away. Without you by my side, I don't want to face the world. It's much too cold for me without your warm embrace.
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