Florence کے بول

Another week, in sort of speak I couldn't dig your high hopes You won't believe when I say I'm intrigued with your poor show I know that I'm a little out of line Walking around with bottles instead of glasses, oh mine A lonely man in a cold land Writes on his hand the time he will spend To bring his reason home back Until it goes out again, goes out again Covered in sheets, raises up the heat And keep warm his flawed plan He wouldn't know How could he know? In the cold he will stand I know that you're a little out of line Trying to get in the way of storm to delay the sunshine A lonely man in a cold land Writes on his hand the time he will spend To bring his reason home back Until it goes out again, goes out again