Testo di Sunday's Pretty Icons

There is no hole in which to hide There is no plane to catch No hope, tell them that's warm enough No rent to a room that's quiet A friend I've known through six degrees Cools down to where I hide A friend I've known through dreams and prayers She comes back to my side You're so far from wanting to talk You're so far from wanting to say something good Feel something good The sea cries of loves of girls The sea cries of boys The storm, we are the both of us Too close to ever love Whisky from the island of Sund Whisky from the year you were born Tastes like kidnap and ransom and exile Somebody asked me what hell was like Somebody asked me for help Somebody asked me what hell was like Lunging and happening, parting of souls Every girl you ever admired Every boy you ever desired Every love you ever forgot Every person that you despised is forgiven