Polly Scattergood - Number 24
Előadó: | Polly Scattergood |
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Album: | Keressük! |
Szövegírók: | Keressük a szövegírót! |
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Zeneszerzők: | Keressük a zeneszerzőt! |
Kiadó: | Keressük! |
Stílus: | alternative rock indie experimental |
Címkék: | Keressük! |
Megtekintve: Ma 1, összesen 616 alkalommal
Dalszöveg
Honesty is killing me
I feel you burning holes in me
And ripping open threads like I'm some
Big enchanting crossword
And I know I have to get back up
But when I cry, I cry a lot
And nothing much is going on
The poet and the vicars son
And so maybe next time
Likely never
So strip the whips
And you can burn that leather
And you can paint the keys sir
Hide the door
Because it's pretty damn quiet
At number 24
And I live in a bedsit in the south
So bite my nails and tape my mouth
And pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet
You've got these bitter eyes
You've got these rotting teeth
Fuck me up sir, fade away
Give me my own Polly day
And clean my boots or suck my toes
And pretend like nobody knows
And I'm okay, I'm okay
You're just fine
And one day we might have a good day
But maybe next time, likely never
So strip the whips and you can burn that leather
You can paint the keys sir, hide the door
Because it's pretty damn quiet
At number 24
And I live in a bedsit in the south
So bite my nails and tape my mouth
And pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet
You've got these bitter eyes
You've got these rotting teeth
If I was still seventeen
If I was twice as nice
If you were half as mean
Then I might give you a second chance
To feel the way it maybe should have been
Throw me a lead, suck my cherry
Say your love is dead and buried
And find a blonde, that one looks a bit like me
Maybe this time you just might get it
But then maybe next time, likely never
So you can strip the whips and you can burn that leather
And you can paint the keys sir, hide the door
Because it's pretty damn quiet
At number 24
And I live in a bedsit in the south
So bite my nails and tape my mouth
And pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet
You've got these bitter eyes
You've got these rotting teeth
I feel you burning holes in me
And ripping open threads like I'm some
Big enchanting crossword
And I know I have to get back up
But when I cry, I cry a lot
And nothing much is going on
The poet and the vicars son
And so maybe next time
Likely never
So strip the whips
And you can burn that leather
And you can paint the keys sir
Hide the door
Because it's pretty damn quiet
At number 24
And I live in a bedsit in the south
So bite my nails and tape my mouth
And pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet
You've got these bitter eyes
You've got these rotting teeth
Fuck me up sir, fade away
Give me my own Polly day
And clean my boots or suck my toes
And pretend like nobody knows
And I'm okay, I'm okay
You're just fine
And one day we might have a good day
But maybe next time, likely never
So strip the whips and you can burn that leather
You can paint the keys sir, hide the door
Because it's pretty damn quiet
At number 24
And I live in a bedsit in the south
So bite my nails and tape my mouth
And pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet
You've got these bitter eyes
You've got these rotting teeth
If I was still seventeen
If I was twice as nice
If you were half as mean
Then I might give you a second chance
To feel the way it maybe should have been
Throw me a lead, suck my cherry
Say your love is dead and buried
And find a blonde, that one looks a bit like me
Maybe this time you just might get it
But then maybe next time, likely never
So you can strip the whips and you can burn that leather
And you can paint the keys sir, hide the door
Because it's pretty damn quiet
At number 24
And I live in a bedsit in the south
So bite my nails and tape my mouth
And pretend life, life's so fucking sickly sweet
You've got these bitter eyes
You've got these rotting teeth
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