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Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.
More in Member Pages The personal space of Róbbi SkæraThis is a song I'm working on.
as she enters thee bar,
all thee drinkers gape and swoon, and their girlfriends whisper rumours in thee corner ov thee room, and she mimes a quiet curse on all thee men that have found her, with a smile on her lips as thee trees fall down around her. A Bm and you're not thee only one she's hurt, A Bm everybody wants to kill that girl, C Bm A everyone who knows her wants her dead, C Bm A everyone who knows her wants her dead. she opens thee front door and disappears down thee road, with a camera a hipflask concealed within her coat, and thee pavement's packed with thee men that surround her, in a dream ov her own, whilst thee rain pours down around her. A Bm and you're not thee only one she's hurt, A Bm everybody wants to kill that girl, C Bm A everyone who knows her wants her dead, C Bm A everyone who knows her wants her dead. there's mascara on her cheek but as she walks, she sings and what little light is left bounces and flickers off her rings as thee tears fall in thee hands ov every man she discovered as she lies on thee road and thee smoke rises from her. A Bm A Bm C Bm A C Bm A it needs a .... you know, a tune. |
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