Blew the dust off a wooden box
|
And set it on the piano
|
Nasty words came from its mouth
|
The bite marks were to follow
|
I should have given it away
|
Now I never dream
|
Wide awake for much too long
|
My eyes glued to the table
|
Tried to feign authority
|
But sadly wasn¡¯t able
|
And then it threw me to the floor
|
I never dream
|
They say I¡¯m late by half a century
|
He died in 1943
|
I can¡¯t just leave
|
(He smells it when I¡¯m gone)
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So I just take it in my sleep
|
The road is going¡¦
|
Me: ¡°Ask for her another day¡±
|
The spade¡¯s up your sleeve
|
There¡¯s sweat on your brow
|
And I will be damned
|
If I let you back into this town
|
December 17th, 1955 - Broken
|
Seven hours passed on your floor
|
Seven hours isn¡¯t that long
|
Seven hours isn¡¯t
|
|
-----------------
|
Dream
|
The Vincent Black Shadow |