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• Artiste: Poor Things
• Titre: Out of Reach
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There you out of reach Only seventeen You've got jewels in your eyes Though they only see The catastrophe That confronts their sight "Keep your social rep. Wear your Sunday Best Don't wake up in strange beds With an aching head Wonder' who'll be next" That's what they said But hey, hey, hey... The Sun seems so kind But I don't know why - He's like everyone else And the moon's no fun Just reflects the sun No sense of self If you carry me, I will carry you We are soaked to the bone In our chemicals What a spectacle We can't be alone But hey, hey, hey... There you out of reach Only seventeen You've got jewels in your eyes