Hull Or Hell
Of larks trains windows and brooks
The poet he writes it all down in his book
Won't meet your eye but he wants you to look
In Hull or hell he lies
Lambs in the winter and swans in the spring
Children at play they're like birds on the wing
And the poet he writes that the sun seems to swing
In Hull or hell he lies
Away from the world and away from the page
Hidden in corners the gathering of age
Retreats to the wings where he once held the stage
In Hull or hell he lies
The dirt and the filth that we don't get to see
That's eating his language away
This yellow-eyed nastiness hides from the light of the day
Resenting the everyday growing so old
Where winter once pictured as flowers in fold
Turned frosty and bitter and weathered and cold
In Hull or hell he lies
His housemaid she tried but the dirt grew so fast
The darkest of colours he nailed to the mast
Stuck in his ways like he's stuck in the past
Похожие новости.
Leaves and Kings
I met you at a party or on a crowded street A silent singularity when glances chanced to meet You looked into my glasses, said you'd seen a ghost I tried my best
The Hearts Filthy Lesson
Heart's filthy lesson Heart's filthy lesson Heart's filthy lesson There's always the diamond friendly Sitting in the Laugh Hotel The heart's filthy lesson With her hundred miles to hell Oh, Ramona, if there was only something between
Город-музей
На этом пути я одна. Я снова не знаю тебя… Я хотела в тебе утонуть Дорога открыла мне путь И я не смогла повернуть… И к чему откровенность твоя? На этом пути я одна. Я снова не
Голуби (feat. Сацура)
В моей квартирке на Цветном бульваре я храню портрет. На нём Колян, братишка, ему в том сентябре 16 лет. Потёрся глянец чёрно-белой фотографии старой. Где мой лучший друг изображён с отцовскою гитарой. Давно ли
That’s What You Get
On the way tome I thought better stop before it closes And get some, pretty things for a pretty tiling Here I come through the door, bringm' you more roses Whatever else you