๑۩ﺴ۩๑∀๑۩ﺴ۩๑๑۩۞۩๑๑۩ﺴ۩๑∀๑۩ﺴ۩๑
I'll be you, you'll be talking to a flowerpot, but that's hardly worth a thought or a plague of frogs. And we will vomit up our Chicago luck, and we will dance on broken sheets of glass to make our point. And if this town seems too big, if the traffic freaks you out, I will be your lightening rod, delivering sound to you. He's a charming wreck and he's a handsome wreck, the kind of rat that took my woman back to his pad. And I'm not travelling, I'm not sleeping in the clothes I wore a hundred times or more. And if this town seems too big, if the traffic freaks you out, I will be your lightening rod, delivering sound. And what will I do? What will I do? Will my nerves get topsy turvy? I'll be you, if you want me to, I'll clean your clock. And if this town seems too big, if the traffic freaks you out, I will be your lightening rod, delivering sound. I can see beneath your skin, it really freaks me out. I will be your camera's flash, delivering sunbeams.
๑۩۞۩๑ ๑۩ﺴ۩๑ ๑۩۞۩๑ ๑۩ﺴ۩๑ ๑۩۞۩๑
We will invent new lullabies, new songs, new acts of love;
we will cry over things we used to laugh at,
and our new wisdom will bring tears to eyes of gentle.
