Gipsy کے بول

wearing a string of fairies around her neck tells me she's gone and nothing will bring her back whether the future's bright or we're out of luck don't try to argue much she won't give a fuck she's dying she's dying she's dying she's dying pack a few things and put on your strangest dress where we're all going none of us could care less hitting the road as hard as a gypsy can don't even ask we don't even have a plan and as her skin rips off and her bones poke through strange as her beauty grows she won't have a clue soles of her feet worn down but she stretches on smaller she grows but will she ever be gone she's dying she's dying she's dying she's dying pack a few things and string up your rings and beads sick of the war and other disgraceful deeds hitting the road as hard as the dying can don't even as we don't even have a plan