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zuò cí : Hersh |
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That fine fever brought us here. . . |
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Lambasted eyeballs. . . |
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When we kiss the dirt the orchids laugh. . . |
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What a gut pageant, we could play for hours. . . |
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What a gut pageant, meat for the flowers. . . |
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You break out of a paper bag, and wake up on the street. . . |
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Just kidding. . . |
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You don' t have to go. . . |
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I asked him why the grass is blue and stray boys don' t go home. . . |
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Why 4 a. m. ' s so screwy. . . |
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He says " Sleep through it". . . |
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What a gut pageant, we could play for hours. . . |
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What a gut pageant, meat for the flowers. . . |
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Not too special not too strange. . . |
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Just the way |
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I like ' em. . . |
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You find an empty promise and stick by it. . . |
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Not too pretty not too sweet. . . |
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Just the way |
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I like you. . . |
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When you kiss the dirt the orchids laugh harder than me. . . |
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Tell me another one. . . |
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I could sit for hours. . . |
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When anyone laughs |
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I know I' m a coward. . . |
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When we kiss the dirt the orchids laugh harder than me. . . |