[spoken]
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Then I went down into the basement
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where my friend the maniac busy's himself with his electronic grafiti
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Finally his language touches me
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because he talks to the part of us
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which insists on drawing profiles on prison walls.
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In that moment poetry will be made by everyone
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and there will be emu's in the zone...
|
|
Mist covers the ground
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In the city
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Engine rumbles quiet
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As we drift by
|
|
I wish you could see it
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Through my crooked eye
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Oh your beauty
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Plays me just like a guitar string (it's so true)
|
|
I want your touch
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Oh how I want you far too much
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She my baby
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He's my baby
|
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Ahhhhh [x8]
|
|
Days drift into one
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It's so pretty
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Travelling Wilbury's, Polly's photofits
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And this stolen car
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Is loaded with junk
|
It's so dirty
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He'll be the death of me
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But that's ok
|
|
I want your touch
|
Oh how I want you far too much
|
She my baby
|
He's my baby
|
|
Ahhhhh [x8]
|
|
-----------------
|
West Ryder Silver Bullet
|
Kasabian |