A Thought's An Idea... | Page 8 | the Fashion Spot

A Thought's An Idea...

im reaching for the phone to call at 7 03 on your machine i slur a plea for you to come home
 
you, you take my breath away...and i don't know what to say...
 
you had something to hide, should have hidden it shouldn't you?
 
Who's that hanging from the gallow tree?
His eyes are hollow but he looks like me
 
Well he shot four men in a cocaine deal
And he left them lyin' in an open field
Full of old cars with bullet holes in the mirrors ...
 
We found you hiding, we found you lying
Choking on the dirt and sand
Your former glories and all the stories
Dragged and washed with eager hands
 
Flies are buzzing round my head
Vultures circling the dead
Picking up every last crumb
 
What's that moving in the basement?
What's that moving in the attic?

Who's that walking in the shadow
Who's that walking in the streets
 
On the sidewalk, one sunday morning
Lies a body, oozin’ life
Someone’s sneaking ’round the corner
Could that someone be Mack the knife
 
Where do you go when you're lonely?
Where do you go when you're blue?
 
To hold the TV to my lips, the air so packed with cash
then carry it up flights of stairs and drop it in the vacant lot
 
Rows and rows of disused milk floats stand dying in the dairy yard
 

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