I would cut my legs and tits off
|
|
When I think of Boris Karloff and Kinski
|
|
In the dark of the moon
|
|
It made me dream of Nosferatu
|
|
Trapped on the isle of Doctor Moreau
|
|
Oh wouldn¡¯t it be lovely
|
|
I was thinking Peter Lorre
|
|
When things got pretty gory as I
|
|
Crossed to the Brandenburg Gate
|
|
I was feeling snappy perhaps I¡¯d been napping
|
|
And I¡¯d just ate
|
|
A following heart can tear you apart
|
|
On a midnight to 8 shift
|
|
A graveyard romance can only give one chance
|
|
As the tombstones weave and breathe
|
|
Feeling happy when my heart got beating
|
|
On a Sunday afternoon
|
|
I dreamt of breezes going through the treeses
|
|
And stars were still illumed
|
|
I have three hearts that I keep apart
|
|
Trying to relate
|
|
To normal feelings and the nightime reelings
|
|
And some absynthe drunk so late
|
|
The cook got drunk and all the whores they shrunk
|
|
Onto the size of dessert plates
|
|
But me I¡¯m happy cause I got my little nappy
|
|
And some opium to set me straight
|
|
I¡¯m just a small town girl who wants to give it a whirl
|
|
While my looks still hold me straight
|
|
Straight up to illusion and fantasy¡¯s fusion
|
|
Of reality mixed with drink
|
|
I¡¯m just a small town girl who¡¯s gonna give life a whirl
|
|
Looking at the Brandenburg Gate
|
|
-----------------
|
Brandenburg Gate
|
| Metallica |
