Ive Got Stories Of Wine, Superb

The dirt is -temporary-
Eyes like sunshine in morning storms
Postcards never made it to home, wondering if your alive
The spotlight showed what was chased away
I spent my summer days walking on a n c i e n t streets and
The smell of diesel that became a sudden memory
We are all too fond of what we had, and what we lost
Your heart doesnt beat in this town
And I know a place where no one is likely to pass
Everyone here with fake skin, where are you really?
Trumpets and horns played as we walked away from it all
-Lady electrique

In my good times,
There were always golden rocks to throw

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