The Lines of my earth
so brittle, unfertile, and ready to die
I need a drink but the well has gone dry
And we in the habit of saying the same things all
over again, for the money we shall make
This is the last song that Iīll write ītil you tellme otherwise.
And itīs because I just dont feel it
This is the last song ītil you tell me otherwise.
And itīs because I just donīt feel it anymore
It should be our time
This fertile youthīs black soil
is ready for rain
The harvest is high
but the well has gone dry
And they in the habit of saying the same things all
over again, about the money we shall make
This is the last song that Iīll write ītil you tell me otherwise
And itīs because I just donīt feel it
This is the last song ītil you tell me otherwise
And itīs because I just donīt feel it anymore
This is the last song that Iīll write ītil you tell me otherwise.
And itīs because I just donīt feel it
This is the last song ītil you tell me otherwise.
And itīs because I just donīt feel it anymore
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