Then she says, "I know you're an artist, draw a picture of me!";
I say, "I would if I could, but, ;
I don't do sketches from memory."
Rock me, pretty baby, rock me 'til everything gets real;
Rock me for a little while, rock me 'til there's nothing left to feel;
And I'll rock you too
They tell me revenge is sweet and from where they stand, I'm sure it is.
He looks so truthful, is this how he feels;
Trying to peel the moon and expose it
You don't need a weather man;
To know which way the wind blows
The country music station plays soft;
but there's nothing, really nothing, to turn off
She lit a burner on the stove and offered me a pipe;
"I thought you'd never say hello," she said;
"You look like the silent type."
Everybody must get stoned.
My warehouse eyes, my Arabian drums,;
Should I leave them by your gate,;
Or, sad-eyed lady, should I wait?
When my life is over, it'll be like a puff of smoke
I don't know why I love her but I just can't stop
It's so impossible to even learn the tune.
My love for her is taking such a long time to die
So long, New York.;
Howdy, East Orange.
What good am I if I know and don't do,;
I If I see and don't say, if I look right through you
Now, I can't go back to what was, baby,;
I can't unring the bell.
I feel nothing for their game where beauty goes unrecognized
He bought me with a price,;
Freed me from the pit,;
Full of emptiness and wrath;
And the fire that burns in it.
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain;
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
I see people who are supposed to know better standin' around like furniture.
I'm sick of love but I'm in the thick of it
Well, I wake in the morning, Fold my hands and pray for rain.;
I got a head full of ideas, That are drivin' me insane.
The night is pitch black, come an' make my;
Pale face fit into place, ah, please!
Well, if I had to do it all over again,;
Babe, I'd do it all over you.
That long black cloud is comin' down
She's got everything she needs,;
She's an artist, she don't look back
Well, anybody can be just like me, obviously;
But then, now again, not too many can be like you, fortunately.
We heard the Sermon on the Mount and I knew it was too complex,;
It didn't amount to anything more than what the broken glass reflects.
I gotta go;
Find out something only dead men know
