desire. 'Till you get to me on my morningside Let me down, you say never, baby blues, don't you ever. I'm used to being one with the misfortune to find. Afternoons, run for cover and full moons, just
desire. 'Till you get to me on my morningside Let me down, you say never, baby blues, don't you ever. I'm used to being one with the misfortune to find. Afternoons, run for cover and full moons, just
Morningside. The old man died. And no one cried. They simply turned away. And when he died. He left a table made of nails and pride. And with his hands he carved these words inside. "For my