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• Artiste: Trophy Scars
• Titre: Dreams Of New Orleans
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The taste of blue skies Like Frank Sinatra's eyes And open pools of blood You bet they never looked so good I'm coming home, I'm coming home Tonight I dream, I dream of New Orleans We're spinning Out of control again But the taste of the ocean floors and time will tell, "Yeah, yeah, yeah Oh, baby Maybe we'll meet again," Well, get out of your car, come on kiss me "Mechanical blades And address books with no names," It's the stories I trade And knives wrapped in lace Tonight I dream, I dream of New Orleans I'm coming home, I'm coming home We're spinning Out of control again But the taste of the ocean floors and time will tell, "Yeah, yeah, yeah Oh, baby Maybe we'll meet again," Well, get out of your car, whore, come on kiss me (I dream of New Orleans) Lift your casket to the sky I hope tonight I die I hope tonight we die I'm coming home Home Tonight I dream of New Orleans (I got a gun in New Orleans) Can a man witness his own funeral? (He's got a gun) Tonight I dream, I dream of New Orleans I dream of New Orleans.