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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2009-04-28 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
wrapped my arms around you/ it's the sweet touch of
metal/ that allows you to breathe and as they rush to save you/ I find myself peacefully asleep they call it "a slight chemical unbalance"/ I call it the need to/ live isn't it beautiful? the way we bend truth/ and make it serve us/ when we need it the most it's the quiet Sunday morning/ that staggers like a ghost/ and we find God, dearest/ and we walk through walls/ godly skills these doctors impose/ and love is in the air/ smiling from above scalpel wide/ the sign of your cross do welcome the caress/ of surgical gloves/ do welcome the needle/ & the drugs
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