John & Mary
City streets with noises abound, telephone wires sparkled with sound
All believed impeachably world without end, amen, amen
And the grass grew yellow and brown and the sky wasn’t blue
And at first when our radios worked we wouldn’t believe it was true
Boy with a friend a walking the land, woman in fields a plow in the earth
Goods a’plenty in front of the store, life was in love with the mushroom cap war
And the grass grew yellow and brown and the sky wasn’t blue
And at first when our radios worked we wouldn’t believe it was true
Looking for the fort we built by the old abandoned mine
But there was nothing, nothing we could find
There was no place for seeking and hiding, no time left for us finding
The worn-out whiskey bottles as my cold hands drawing crosses on the ground
Searching for our secret tree, the one with both our names
But there was nothing, nothing we could find
There was no place for seeking and hiding, no time left for us finding
The worn-out whiskey bottles as my cold hands drawing crosses on the ground
Stunted trees growing wild in the pool, once summertime swims
Now shade keeps us cool
Kunda’s baby never got born, victory gardens all withered and worn
And the grass grew yellow and brown and the sky wasn’t blue
And at first when our radios worked we wouldn’t believe it was true
The rags of flowers bloom
The clouds a living tomb
And Christmas is coming soon, turn gladly back home
All believed impeachably world without end, amen, amen
And the grass grew yellow and brown and the sky wasn’t blue
And at first when our radios worked we wouldn’t believe it was true
Boy with a friend a walking the land, woman in fields a plow in the earth
Goods a’plenty in front of the store, life was in love with the mushroom cap war
And the grass grew yellow and brown and the sky wasn’t blue
And at first when our radios worked we wouldn’t believe it was true
Looking for the fort we built by the old abandoned mine
But there was nothing, nothing we could find
There was no place for seeking and hiding, no time left for us finding
The worn-out whiskey bottles as my cold hands drawing crosses on the ground
Searching for our secret tree, the one with both our names
But there was nothing, nothing we could find
There was no place for seeking and hiding, no time left for us finding
The worn-out whiskey bottles as my cold hands drawing crosses on the ground
Stunted trees growing wild in the pool, once summertime swims
Now shade keeps us cool
Kunda’s baby never got born, victory gardens all withered and worn
And the grass grew yellow and brown and the sky wasn’t blue
And at first when our radios worked we wouldn’t believe it was true
The rags of flowers bloom
The clouds a living tomb
And Christmas is coming soon, turn gladly back home
envoyé par Riccardo Venturi - 17/1/2007 - 16:02
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