|
Dine-Weller |
|
A bag of nerves |
|
I seem to suppress |
|
Alien of being |
|
Not known to duress |
|
Moonshine, moonshine |
|
There's something in the hills |
|
I cannot posses |
|
As dark as sunday |
|
We're woven again |
|
I pack no meaning |
|
I'm shrunken in vain |
|
Moonshine, moonshine |
|
I'm bleak as |
|
TuesdayI seek no applause |
|
Not really like me |
|
Refuse to go on |
|
My faith has been surely fired |
|
I'm schooled in the test of time |
|
Moonshine, moonshine |
|
There's something in the hills |
|
I cannot posses |
|
I'm deaf as |
|
ThursdayI seek to explode |
|
One hour daily |
|
I work to implode |
|
Moonshine, moonshine |
