Tekster: Arctic Monkeys. Fright Lined Dining Room.
You thrive on dancing in our laps
Before the more familiar chaps
And oh the curtain leads to fever
We watched a womaniser cry
And in the last sip you and I
Declared we might require a breather
I am the truth true through and I
Can feign excitement fluently
As solid as I can busk shock
With well presented merriment
And I know all too well
I shouldn't break the key off in the lock
And the tumble splits the frame, revealing silk and fit
In the fright lined dining room
Throw a gaze towards them while they feast
The days drag their heels when you're not there to crack the whip
And the weeks wait to burst like a sache of brass
The old pantomime villian follows my coat
And he hides where it hangs and he spies through the slots
And meanwhile in the desert's only costume shop
The cowls hang and wait to rot away the identities of the willing
Drowned bags of sugar in the night
Rocketing shuttered doors despite
The shop not opening for hours
You can itch, flap, and whistle
And try to avoid the talk
As I scribbled over drivel you were snoring, showing off
The tumble splits the frame, revealing silk and fit
In the fright lined dining room
Throw a gaze towards them while they feast
Before the more familiar chaps
And oh the curtain leads to fever
We watched a womaniser cry
And in the last sip you and I
Declared we might require a breather
I am the truth true through and I
Can feign excitement fluently
As solid as I can busk shock
With well presented merriment
And I know all too well
I shouldn't break the key off in the lock
And the tumble splits the frame, revealing silk and fit
In the fright lined dining room
Throw a gaze towards them while they feast
The days drag their heels when you're not there to crack the whip
And the weeks wait to burst like a sache of brass
The old pantomime villian follows my coat
And he hides where it hangs and he spies through the slots
And meanwhile in the desert's only costume shop
The cowls hang and wait to rot away the identities of the willing
Drowned bags of sugar in the night
Rocketing shuttered doors despite
The shop not opening for hours
You can itch, flap, and whistle
And try to avoid the talk
As I scribbled over drivel you were snoring, showing off
The tumble splits the frame, revealing silk and fit
In the fright lined dining room
Throw a gaze towards them while they feast
Arctic Monkeys
Arctic Monkeys
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