: Gone out of sight there's only darkness in my eyes Hey, hey, where are the loosers now Gone inside outlaws every day a losing streak Every day they
Blind to the charms Of the Toecutter Arms, My labor to the east by knit and by darn, Looking for the world like a whelp at sea, The discoverer's cottage
Your issue may walk among fine moral spires, But if they went up somebody else built them. Your store is a small one, your goods have no buyers Your
It's too hot babe, pull the covers back, Don't touch me babe, I don't remember ever liking that, Don't touch me babe, roll over. O brother, you don
You can't walk through the Isle of the Dead, you can't lie still in the guest house bed, there's a pair of black eyes staring down at you from the mountain
Well versed I am in the taint of my birth, my diminishing role in this sphere, But sometimes I require a communique from the Mother to make it clear,
Should you expect to see something that you hadn't seen In somebody you'd known since you were sixteen; if love is a bolt from the blue, then what is
Some go high and very low, none too different or the same you know, I know cos I've seen them come and go. When summer comes the valley hums with medicine
Duty, who's your master? Who gave you fingers? Who gave you to me? And why do we always dream of disaster When we pay our dues to disaster with some
At ten o'clock is when I rise from my grave, and cast my eyes over the ideas that I couldn't save, become regret and break upon me now wave after wave
This honey month I'm telling you Don't go turning your radio on, A one and a two, should I talk to you, Like the others do? Get yr knees up beneath
There's a place I've been told, and when I grow old I may go there, I've been told that my family's bones may lie under the snow there, And with my little
Autumn leaves are flying, (each a baby's brittle boat), The season's dying, (Winter's mottled pigeon throat) Sings the coo-cool air, The old sun's
O how my great liberal heart labours, With the piss in my rivers and gall, Before gleaming ceremonial sabres, Who falls on them falls for us all...
Here on the hill above the settlement, the buildings are talking, A tower to a terrace says the word's on the street, the dead are walking... The brows
Gone out of sight there's only darkness in my eyes Hey, hey, where are the loosers now Gone inside outlaws every day a losing streak Every day they tell
