Letras:
Cold Grundig

Green gardens, cold Montreal Crooked pictures that hang in the hall It's the golden day, golden day, gold, you recall on cue Oooh, it's old news. When

: Caught on a tongue that can never speak Empty threats that scratch your cheek Tattooed on in crimson red Velvet bruise beneath this head Offer up

I?m sorry that joke flew right over your head that time it?s not my fault it wasn?t mine it?s not my fault I couldn?t tell if you were going to