Stuck To You
Well there's one thing Mama, I think you should know
It is not love that makes the flowers grow
But a complex electron transfer process known as photosynthesis when chlorophyll reacts with the light of day
Since you're gone, the light has gone away
Oh there's one more thing Mama, I think that you'll find
It is not love that makes the stars shine
But the spontaneous combustion of super-heated and super-condensed gasses in the process known as fusion that creates new elements when the time is right
Since you're gone, stars don't shine so bright
Oh there's another thing Mama, I think I should confide
It is not love that'll turn the tide
But the net difference in the gravitational pull between the Earth and the Moon as it is acted out upon the waves
But since you're gone, I feel washed away
I could have been a mathematician
Studied rockets for a livin'
Would've worked out better in the end
But to get more specific I'd break every law of physics
To bring you back to me again
Well there's one more thing, I'll tell you if I can
It is not love, that makes a non-stick frying pan
But a top-secret, trademarked, conglomerated, most likely carcinogenic, polyurethane compound spread in a micro-thin substance,
over a negatively charged layer of aluminum, copper, iron, lead, VHS, FYI, apple pie, FBI, and some other elements too
Since you're gone, I wish I'd stuck to you
Похожие новости.
Game Over
I'm kinda ordinary To Me you were sorta scary But you seem to like me and that don't happen that much So I threw cation to the wind Gave you one half-hearted grin Thats all that
Брехня
Не бреши, будь ласка, не бреши. Не бреши мені. Не бреши мені, Я один із тих, хто побачив сенс Виправдати все і впав до брехні, Але більше ні! Не бреши мені... Не жалій себе, бо сказавши
Дощ
Можливо мені повезло І я знову один Руками я мусив на скло Долати справжні мости Приспів: У місті твоєму скінчились дощі І зараз затоплюють нас Можливо мені повезло І мрію в межі не знайти Чи може скінчилось пальне... А може
Песня Микрофона
Я оглох от ударов ладоней, Я ослеп от улыбок певиц, Сколько лет я страдал от симфоний, Потакал подражателям птиц! Сквозь меня, многократно просеясь, Чистый звук в ваши души летел. Стоп! Вот тот, на кого я надеюсь. Для
Playboys Of The Southwestern World
This is a song About best friends John Roy Was a boy I knew Since he was three And I was two Grew up two little houses Down from me The only two bad apples On our family tree Kind
