On a red blanket and white sheets
there she is, head to feet.
Memorial death or deflection of light
no one can see here, but I am just might.
She can cure your pain and replace it with sorrow,
she's a messed up girl, here day is tomorrow.
When facing the mirror she sees a black hole,
two knocks on the door, it's Mr. cupid, taking his toll.
And when the streets are empty and no one else is there
my mind is floating over, nightdreaming about her.
but she keeps on fading from lust to dust,
she is an angel undercover, you just need to peel the
rust.
On a big train to nowhere, she is talking to herself
asking: ''what the hell is wrong with me ,can you pick
me from that shelf?".
On a weird store on Sunday, a drunkman shading tears,
asking: ''why the hell this whisky drinks won't keep
out all my fears?".
And on a quiet noon in my house, I'm talking to the walls
,Asking: ''when the hell I'm gonna rid this empty
cracked up soul?".
And when the lights starts to rising, and the night is
going down,
my mind just burst in fever, my heart threats me to drown.
but she keeps on demanding, answers is a must,
she's the devil of my feelings, burning me to dust.
...On my room at night, I dream again |
המציאות הנו מקרי בהחלט. אין צוות האתר ו/או
הנהלת האתר אחראים לנזק, אבדן, אי נוחות, עגמת
נפש וכיו''ב תוצאות, ישירות או עקיפות, שייגרמו
לך או לכל צד שלישי בשל מסרים שיפורסמו
ביצירות, שהנם באחריות היוצר בלבד.