Want You More!

You had plans all along
Musta seen me coming down a mile above the ground
Coz I am weak where you are strong
It's a thrill that makes me curious
Whatever I'm thinking of
You always seem to know
Coz nothing is good enough
There's always something to keep me guessing
What if it's real, what if you're just faking?
What if you knew you could?
What if you get off on manipulating?
Why does it feel so good?
Drivin' the car turn up the sound
Gets yer head in a hailstorm, man I'm gonna feel the blast
I pick you up - you throw me down
And it only gets more serious
What could you be thinking of?
You never let it show
Coz you give me just enough
There's always something
You keep it coming
What if it's real,what if your just faking?
What if you knew you could?
What if you get off on manipulating?
Why does it feel so good?
Why do I want you more? Why do I want you? Why do I feel so torn?
Why do I want you more? Why do I want you?
Why do I want you more?
What could you be thinking of?
You never let it show
Coz you give me just enough
There's always something, you keep me coming
Just keep it coming
What if it's real, what if you're just faking?
What if you knew you could?
What if you get off on manipluating?
Why does it feel so good?
Why do I want you more? Why do I want you?
Why do I feel so torn?
Why do I want you more? Why do I want you? Why do I want you more?
Why do I want you more? Why do I want you? Why do I want you more?
Why do I want you more? Why do I want you? Why do I want you more?

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Живуть кити під містом. І тритони. А ще дельфіни. В сумерку глибин, в западинах, де чорний місяць тоне, де вибрано породу з порожнин, вони живуть - міноги і мурени, сирени, восьминоги. І смиренне сліпе суцвіття губок

Box full o' honey At the sharp end of the view The edge of me and you And all good sense had tread no further And as the ghost will shiver trees How I'm trembling

Муз: О.Попков Сл. О.Попков Восемь таблеток от одиночества, Вот и сбывается чьё-то пророчество. Жёлтый фонарь? ровный свет треугольника Шорох привычный мятого стольника. Ветер холодный, белые волосы, Шрамы как ровные белые полосы. Счастье чужое, такое блестящее, Ненастоящее Белые дороги

Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh Oh oh oh oh oh Up every evening 'bout half eight