i was in a four-piece band, the drummer's crippled hand, the base player would bleed from her thumb, the guitarist was a fascist, we all wished, we had, we had in our heads a gig, and I was in total control of the triangle
You owe me letters, comfort, arms and legs
We laugh, we cry, and we pat each other on back, but we'll never understand, It takes ten thousand tons of sand, to make this island, We know this will always be about life
You were there in your three-piece suit, licking lips, eyeing eyes, and the walls were wet, the electrical wiring was old, and the whole place burned down, the whole place burned down, and you were drenched with...
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