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• Artiste: Withered Hand
• Titre: No Cigarettes
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Think me and you could maybe use a lost weekend I've been losing all my friends I wave another empty bottle in your face, Like I'm hitting it hard But it's just pretend 'cos you know I'm not I wouldn't know where to start I've been there before I went and got lost, Always the back end of this pantomime horse All we seem to do these days is wave our arms and yell Other people are hell And what's that song you're singing, everybody hurts? And everybody lies, Don't wanna remember, too many regrets And no cigarettes 'cos I'm not a smoker, But I said I was And the elevator stuck between the floors Is getting to me Don't let him forsake you Wrack him up and knock him down again You're changing direction I won't know where I was The back end of the pantomime horse Is getting to me Maestro, a drum roll please This is the golden age Staring down the corners of the room Another nowhere town When everything I sing is in a minor key I have to write it down, Or I won't remember Then I'll get it wrong This isn't the song, I'm thinking I'm not the singer That I thought I was In the solitude before the applause Is getting to me Maestro a drum roll please This is the golden age