Next To The Last Romantic
He's riding the plains living up to his name
As the next to the last true romantic
He knows that his story is tragic
But he can't rest
Till he's next to you
All the girls know his fame, the men curse his name
And they talk about him like he's magic
But he's the next to the last true romantic
And he can't rest
Til he's next
To you
He's stolen hearts like they're horses
And horses when hearts can't be found
He keeps riding from one horse to one horse
To one horse towns, it gets him down
He know's he's a fool to get caught up with you
But he's the next to the last true romantic
He can't let go of love once he's had it
And he can't rest
Till he's next to you
There's always whiskey and women
And women and whiskey around
He can't tell which is worse to be dying of thirst
Or to drown, it gets him down
So he smiles through the pain he pinch Estelle he dance with Jane
Sometimes even he don't know how he stands it
But he's the next to the last true romantic
And he can't rest
Till he's next to you
Well he can't rest
Till he's next to you
Похожие новости.
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
Балада Про Скорботну Матір
Вдивляється мати у ключ журавлиний, Вдивляється мати весь час вдалечiнь. I молиться Богу: "Вернися, мiй сину, Синочку мiй любий, прохаю прилинь! Пора менi, сину, збиратись в дорогу Роки вiдцвiли, хоч сади так цвiтуть, Бiло-бiло цвiтуть. Синочку, щоднини
Император
Смотрит охранник из будки На окна, что плотно зашторены С криками: "Выключи камеру!" Все объективы - ладонями Быстро закрыв. Руки скручены На раскалённом капоте, И на раскалённом асфальте, И на надоевшей работе, И в особняке за забором, За плотно
Small Town
Oh yeah! Lalalalalala Lalalalalala You get no kick out of champagne Things make you sick by staying the same So lame And if you think that you know everybody And if it seems inspiration is gone Days when
Моя Печаль Зеленоока
І кожен день від тебе кроком І кожен крок від тебе - біль, Моя печаль зеленоока, Журби моєї заметіль. Щоб не сполохати твій чистий, Ще не надбитий юний сміх, Щоб не розсипати намисто Ще веселкових сліз твоїх, Навшпиньки