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• Artiste: Infant Sorrow
• Titre: Little Bird
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
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Little bird, Drink the champagne from my lips. Take a flying saucer trip To the stars in my eyes. Little bird, Sitting on the tip of my tongue. Though you look a bit too young, Could be the stars in my eyes. Your words, like butterflies, dance around my head. Your body, like forbidden wine, spills out of my bed. Hope your daddy doesn't mind. Hope your mommy doesn't mind. Hope your granny doesn't mind. Hope your grandpa doesn't mind. Little bird, You have got to be eighteen, Or a few years past your teens; Or you are in my eyes. Little bird, If you are born before ninety-two, Then you know just what to do; Rip the stars from my eyes. Your words, like butterflies, dance around my head. Your body, like a cherry pie, spills out of my bed. Hope your daddy doesn't mind. Hope your mommy doesn't mind. Hope your nana doesn't mind. Hope your grandpa doesn't mind. Little bird, Brand new galaxies await you. Open up and let me take you To the stars. Your words, like butterflies, dance around my head. Your body, like forbidden wine, spills out of my bed. Hope your daddy doesn't mind. Hope your mommy doesn't mind. Hope your granny doesn't mind. Hope your grandpa doesn't mind. Hope your daddy doesn't mind. Hope your mommy doesn't mind. Hope your daddy doesn't mind. Hope your mommy doesn't mind. Little bird. Little bird. Little bird.