Testi:
The Postal Service Give Up

I'll write you a song and it won't be hard to sing It will be a natural anthem, familiar it will seem It will rally all the workers on strike for better

Last week i had the strangest dream Where everything was exactly how it seemed Where there was never any mystery on who shot john f kennedy It was just

I take a breath and pull the air in 'til there's nothing left I'm feeling green like teenage lovers between the sheets Ba ba ba ba ... Knuckles clenched

Smeared black ink... your palms are sweaty And I'm barely listening to last demands I'm staring at the asphalt wondering what's buried underneath Where

I've got a cupboard with cans of food, filtered water, And pictures of you and i'm not coming out Until this is all over And i'm looking through the

I, I'm thinking it's a sign That the freckles in our eyes Are mirror images, and when we kiss They're perfectly aligned I have to speculate That God

I'll write you a song and it won't be hard to sing It will be a natural anthem, familiar it may seem It will rally all the workers on strike for better

This place is a prison And these people aren't your friends Inhaling thrills through 20 dollar bills And the tumblers are drained and then flooded again

to you You won't have to strain to look into my eyes I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped straight to the throat with the collar up so you won