jueves, 25 de marzo de 2010

Won't you be mine?

Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band. Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man. Ballerina, you must have seen her, dancing in the sand. And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand.
Jesus freaks out in the street, handing out tickets for god. Turning back she just laughs, the boulevard is not that bad. Piano man, he makes his stand in the auditorium.
Looking on she sings the song, the words she knows, the tune she hums. But oh how it feels so real lying here with no-one near only you, and you can hear me, when i say softly, slowly.
Hold me closer tiny dancer, count the headlights on the highway. Lay me down in sheets of linen, you had a busy day today.

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