And they all pretend they're orphans and their memory's like a train You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away And the things you can't remember tell the things you can't forget That history puts a saint in every dream

lørdag, april 02, 2005

barrellin' down the boulevard...

Is the crack of the poolballs, neon buzzin?
Telephone's ringin'; it's your second cousin
And the barmaid is smilin' from the corner of her eye
Magic of the melancholy tear in your eye.

Makes it kind of special down in the core
And you're dreamin' of them Saturdays that came before
It's found you stumblin'
Stumblin' onto the heart of Saturday night
And you're stumblin'
Stumblin onto the heart of Saturday night

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