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Dancehouse Flair
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By Frank Peter Hermsen
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Oh, I hate these crippled minds
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Too sweet to think, dumb and blind
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Filled with yuppie-dreams
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Swimming with the stream
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Sex, drugs, dancehouse-flair
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A bitter taste in the air
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Better than the rest
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You are the best
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Styled to death, ice in the air
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Have a taste of dancehouse-flair
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We do not think, we do not care
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Let¢¥s have a taste
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Of dancehouse-flair
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I¢¥d like to make you disappear
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I¢¥d like to teach you how to fear
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Yes there¢¥s more than bugs
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Money, sex and drugs
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I meet you when I walk around
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Over bloody rich-man¢¥s grounds
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On every scene
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Now in my dreams
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Styled to death....
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Maybe you will rule this land
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With just a single hand
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But this shiny world you want to rent
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Will be built on sand
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I¢¥ve tried to find
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Nice words for you
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But this hate-song
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Was all I could do
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¢¥Cause you¢¥re
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Styled to death...
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-----------------
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Dancehouse Flair
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| Another Tale |
