Na na na na na na.... Det var i 1992. Bohemene fikk seg et sted bo. en diger leilighet. som snart ble byens fasilitet. Der var det fester natta lang. piker vin og sang.
Beautiful day, on a day like today. When you can't get away with the murderous. Little remains of the wide open plains. Where you hardly contained your deservedness.
Kalde kulde kryper. gjennom marg og bein. som bille under barken. det stemmer det er stemmer under huden. de taler i tunger jeg har vann i mine lunger.
salutations from a southern town. i've got tales from the dark side in me down. and in the back of my head there's a three act play. but i don't mind what the voices say.
Smeared black ink, your palms are sweaty. And I'm barely listening. To last demands. I'm staring at the asphalt wondering. What's buried underneath. .
En skjult spor du finner om du spoler bakover (!) p spor 1, helt til det viser minus 2. minutter og 22 sekunder.. Hva om jeg. var. en bendelorm. en bendelorm.
How can I just let you walk away. Just let you leave without a trace. When I stand here taking every breath with you (ooh..). You're the only one who really knew me at all.
The lines across your face. Are drawn with hate. 'Cause I'm drawn to someone else. Looks like you could use a little sleep. . I had some I didn't mention.
Jeg husker da jeg l i vogga mi. Og s foreldrene noen hadde gitt meg. Jeg husker at jeg hadde s lyst til si. S mye dere har lre av meg. Jeg husker jeg ble eldre og smartere dag for dag.
Miserable Mrs. Green sit by yourself and think awhile. Of all that once could have been instead of what is now. Well how does it even feel, you're no longer Madame Butterfly.
Putting all the vegetables away. That you bought at the grocery store today. And it goes fast, you think of the past. . Suddenly everything has changed.
Det var da tre solbrune pelsjegere langs Srlandskysten for en 2-3 sesonger siden. satt og beundret solbrune jenter i tights.. Det skal legges til at teksten er en smule overdrevet..
Ever get that feeling that you're just an act. Even though you meant it as a fact. And any old equation you thought that it would do. And you didn't care which way you turned a screw.
I am thinking it's a sign. That the freckles in our eyes. Are mirror images. And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned. . And I have to speculate. That God Himself did make.
I am thinking it's a sign. That the freckles in our eyes. Are mirror images. And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned. . And I have to speculate. That God Himself did make.
I am thinking it's a sign. That the freckles in our eyes. Are mirror images. And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned. . And I have to speculate. That God Himself did make.
Something 'bout the whiteness of the phone. Something 'bout the genius of modern music. How can I think, how can I fail you?. . Something 'bout the distance to the nerve.
Last week I had the strangest dream. Where everything was exactly how it seemed. Where there was never any mystery on who shot John F. Kennedy. It was just a man with something to prove.
I won't go, I won't stay. 'Til you give me a taste. I wanna feel like that. . So I shake, and you sweat. And we dance, now let's sing. Oh no, no, no, no, no I wanna feel like that.
Oh baby, you're too pure. You're too pure for this wicked world. Your data's uncorrupted. But does something skip inside you?. . That's what takes up time in this life.