Testi:
Postcards Postcard

I have a way with making things Scripted like a song that makes you sting... I need you here with me So here's a heart to heart On the back of postcards

For nine months you carried me softly inside you And harbored me there safe and warm And picked out my names and bought new picture frames And I'm sure

And they put punks on postcards Sell them to the tourists Oh don't they love the English So eccentric! Any they put cops on duty Smiling for the cameras

Oh darling I miss you And boy is it hard The thought of you leaving Is breaking my heart New York, New York, temperature's droppin' The band's

Music by Elton John Lyrics by Bernie Taupin We heard Richard Nixon say, welcome to the USA The common sense I sometimes lack Has opened up a seismic

(originally by Beirut) The times we had Oh when the wind would blow with rain and snow Were not all bad We put our feet just where they had, had to

sea, off the coast of Bombay [Hook] Something like love, something like hope Something like beautiful, something I wrote But postcards from paradise rarely sent to me Postcards

I'm no longer preaching to the converted That congregation has long ago deserted All we discovered was even more despair But we learned how to cope we

We've finally found a way To consume boredom every day We've all become our personal gods We've all become so sad and lost So sad So sad and lost A