Tekster:
Decemberists The Her Majesty

the slate roof A medallion locked inside her hands In her hands And his fingers, are they telling Of the barren of her belly? Do his calluses cure her

Billy Liar's got his hands in his pockets Staring over at the neighbors' knickers down He's got his knickers down So the summer is eternity for you?

There is a city by the sea, a gentle company I don't suppose you want to And as it tells its sorry tale in harrowing detail Its hollowness will haunt

I was meant for the stage I was meant for the curtain I was meant to tread these boards Of this much I am certain I was meant for the crowd I was meant

tale of the Jewess and the mandarin Chinese boy He led her down from her gilded canopy of cloth And through her blindfold, she could make out the figures there before her

Myla Goldberg Sets a steady hand upon her brow Myla Goldberg Hangs a crooked foor all upside down It comes around, it comes around It comes around, it

tale of the jewess and the mandarin chinese boy He led her down from her gilded canopy of cloth. And through her blindfold she could make out the figures there before her

Ambling madly all over the town The call to arms, you're likened to a whisper I liken to a radio You were a brick bag a bowery tuff, so rough They called

For I am a poor and a wretched boy A chimbley, chimbley sweep." "O lonely urchin!" the widow cried, "I've not been swept since the day my husband died." Her cheeks are blushing, her