I know, I've just gotta get out of this place. I can't stand any more of that mechanical grace. Though you say, it's only industrial squeeze. It looks like luxury and feels like a disease.
I was hell-bent on destroying my powers of concentration. While you were living like a saint. And all the time the very one you trusted was. Washing off somebody else's paint.
Five miles out of London on the Western Avenue. Must have been a wonder when it was brand new. Talkin' 'bout the splendor of the Hoover factory. I know that you'd agree if you had seen it too.
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They used to call it Sin City. now it's gone way past that.. Painting the town. and then burning it down. . now even that's old hat.. Now there's a choir of angels.
He selects the plainest face form a spiteful row of girls. Elegant insulted women, a flaw of cultured pearls. He drops a name or two, she fails to catch.