Пераклад: Мімі. Сболтнуть.
If pride's a sin, i'll see you in hell for how proud I have been. And even if you're my guardian angel that doesn't mean I can't be looking out for
Keep me strong, say the things I want to hear. It's not the pain, but the loneliness I fear So fight it off with all the things you'll say and just
It's over, you don't need to tell me Hope you're with someone who makes you Feel safe when you're sleeping tonight I won't kill myself trying to stay
Do you feel like a chain store Practically floored One of many zeros Kicked around, bored? Your ears are full but you're empty Holding out your heart
gonna get it Yeah, falling down, I am a psychoholic Erratic and sure I cannot fail Sit them there and sink into the deep red E-Z riding danger Shadow play, I blur
boundaries I'm building to break from Boundless and unrestrained Building to break them all We are built to see one way But watching the lines blur
Oh, don't sell me out, only love You don't get it so well Please tell someone, everything is gone Dream less of me, less to guess on you I felt so much
Holy man tiptoed his way across the Ganges The sound of magic, music in his ears Videoed by a bus load of tourists Shiny shell suits on and drinking lemonade
Confidence is a preference for the habitual voyeur Of what is known as (Parklife) And morning soup can be avoided If you take a route straight through
{Food processors are great} It's six o'clock on the dot and I'm half way home I feel foul mouthed as I stand an' wait for the underground And a nervous
She says, "There's ants in the carpet" The dirty little monsters, eating all the morsels Just pickin' up the rubbish Give her effervescence, she needs
Who maddest one on the M One Who hasn't stopped sucking his thumb Who very straight and never grins Who cares what car he's driving in He is because
Street's like a jungle So call the police Following the herd Down to Greece, on holiday Love in the Nineties, is paranoid On sunny beaches take your chances
Moscow's still red The young man's dead Gone to heaven instead The evening news Says he was confused The motorways will all merge soon Lottery winner
[INSTRUMENTAL]
world at his feet Yes, it could be you The likely lads Are pickin' up the uglies Yesterday they were just puppies Beery slurs Now life's a blur, telly
Jubilee slouches in the settee He's losing all will to move He gone divvy, too much telly He watching twenty four hours of rubbish He got butane he got
