Windy bus-stop. Click. Shop-window. Heel. Shady gentleman. Fly-button. Feel. In the underpass, the blind man stands. With cold flute hands. Symphony match-seller, breath out of time - You can call me on another line. Indian restaurants that curry my brain. Newspaper warriors changing the names they advertise from the station stand. With cold print hands. Symphony word-player, I'll be your headline. If you catch me another time. Didn't make her - with my Baker Street Ruse. Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise. Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street Muse. Ale-spew, puddle-brew - boys, throw it up clean. Coke and Bacardi colours them green. From the typing pool goes the mini-skirted princess with great finesse. Fertile earth-mother, your burial mound is fifty feet down in the Baker Street underground. What the Hell? I didn't make her - with my Baker Street Ruse. Couldn't shake her - with my Baker Street Bruise. Like to take her - I'm just a Baker Street Muse. Walking down the gutter thinking, How the Hell am I today? Well, I didn't really ask you but thanks all the same.
Название песни: Baker Street Muse
Текст песни добавил: Dashik_yes
1079 просмотров с 2009-11-03 20:43:59
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