Testi:
Wainwright Martha

wrote a song for your big brother, And I'm gonna write a song for you too. Don't cry pretty little Martha, Don't cry pretty little girl. Don't cry pretty little Martha

Got your hand up all in my shirt And you know that it hurts Ball and chain My ball and chain Crossing the street you look so fine Making up everything

Poetry is no place for a heart that's a whore And I'm young & I'm strong But I feel old & tired Overfired And I've been poked & stoked It's all smoke

Bring back my heart You can't have it It is mine You can't have it I know I said For you to take it But you don't use it And I got none in return So

There's a door Handle's cold Made of iron & brass And this door it used to lead Into what is now my past If you were to have opened this door It would

Summer comes and rain falls away But the very next day it seems The snow comes to stay And you too will go just like the dog days do I'll put on my

It's all right Life's struggle's gone You're understood And you can stop the fight You will go to the sea Leave & take your flight I will stay at home

There was that song you wrote About the king who went broke It was the story of you From the point of view of your death bed blues And you will never

Catch a feel or cop a ride I won't be late, I won't decline Your invite tonight this starry cold night Your invite tonight, yeah It's six o'clock get