You fed the fire all my letters like you fed me French fries. And in my dead mouth lies the taste. That's like the look in your dead eyes. Don't give me your expression, don't even swim with me.
You fed the fire all my letters. Like you fed me french fries. And in my dead mouth. Lies the taste that's like the. Look in your dead eyes. Don't give me your expression.
My son John was tall and slim. And he had a leg for every limb. Now he's got no legs at all. They're both shot away with a cannonball. Well were you drunk or were you blind.