We don’t match.
I decided to move
But it want let me
I am married to it’s streets
It dresses me strange
Everything here is a trouble
Days are endless
I’m bored and tired
Oh, it moves me
I try to leave
It follows me in a river
I am lonely
It hugs me in the morning mist
When I sleep
I dream of freedom
We don’t match
But here I am
Guess I can’t divorce this town.
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It’s not much of days
I’m getting on
I’m just getting by
It seems it’s been too long,
It doesn’t really matter why..
Now, I’ve lifted the roofs in a search of truth
I’ve lied, I’ve laid I loved!
Nothing worked for us.
Getting on the nights..
I get on an old train that still drives by..
.. some streets are not mine no more
We seem to have managed
To own a very little of those
Getting on the night
I get on a plane
I taste women, whisky, wine ..
all younger than myself
I get off to get by
and never seem to catch sense..
So I am getting on each night
And each night I get off
Still nothing seems to work but
getting’ high on an idea
that the ideas you can not take with you
and in the end I am not alone.
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Hush!
The Summer sleeps
It ‘s gone in all it’s tone
It fades to dream.
A leaf by leaf..,
A raindrop,
A cold, cold wind swings..
Hush! It’s here!
It’s Autumn breeze.
It’s the wings of Autumn,
The Winter’s mistress
She cries for piece.
In an early night,
In an early morning,
She gives birth in thousand colors,
She’s a mother, she is calling,
Let her come in!
As the Summer sleeps..
And the Spring yet dreams of being wake,
The Autumn screams
In call of Winter’s fame!
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I tried to love
It tasted strange
All were strangers
I was never there
The miracles don’t work for me
The miles don’t do me favors
Guitars are whores and the wine don’t love me
So I stick to the wind
For it’s louder than me
We sing together, we swing the same ways
Wind understands me better than love
Wind forgives me, and I forgive the wind.
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It’s my choice to leave you
I find myself more worthy
My thoughts, my choice
Who says we have to be happy ?
I am sore, I have no home
I don’t have you and I don’t have him
I am empty as a botlle on a Sunday morning floor
And am full to the top that lost it’s cap
I am a fool, why blame me?
Just go trough that door
And forget me
I’ll just stick to the floor
It seem to fit me
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