Dicen de mi que yo he sido un libro abierto Donde mucha gente ha escrito, No hagas caso, nada es cierto En blanco esta, nadie supo escribir nada No dejaron
Mi hai visto prendere a calci la strada Tirare pugni alla porta di casa E poi abbracciarti teneramente ridere di tutto e piangere per niente mi hai
[Instrumental]
Eyes filled with fire Wish I was a better liar It hurts when it's happening, and so I cried The winter is even colder I guess that I could have told
She's writing, she's writing, She's writing a novel. She's writing, she's weaving, Conceiving a plot. It quickens, it thickens. You can't put it down
It's clear to us this love affair Has self combusted everywhere And I don't feel so debonair My piano collects dust A funeral with no mourners I wish
Welcome one, And welcome all To our small town, ??? inside each house you?ll find the guilt ??? ??? [barely audible] Fourteen hymns for the heathens
I see your smiling face By the open door There's the morning light Shining in your hair and in your eyes And just a little way behind that smile of
You want in, you want out? Your ranking's just beginning You ask me, don't ask me I don't know what I'm saying Hate tobacco, love tobacco? It ain't your
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