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• Artiste: Trophy Scars
• Titre: Chicago Typewriter
Assurez-vous que les corrections sont tout à fait exactes
S'il vous plaît, les mettez en évidence en quelque sorte!
Vous pouvez, par exemple, écrire
INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
CORRECT: avant la correspondant ligne correcte
Autrement, nous ne pouvons les corriger pas! Merci pour votre aide.
Sun light peers through the window of our forsaken house You look at my face, I look at your face, you put your hand to your mouth Are you troubled, my dear? Are you boiling with fear? Has your guilt-ridden conscious caved in? There's no heaven or hell this house is it for us both, let the haunting forever begin. So I punish my liver like I walked in a caught him fucking my daughter, he was fucking my daughter I'm a cobweb in the corner, I'm tortured and worn out, but I'd like you to remember me as great (Great writer, a great lover, great artist, great...) And so I garnish my liver with the blood of whoever and I tell you I love you because I believe that I love you I believe you'll leave me a sad empty vessel, and I'll just wander these halls like a slow moving thought We watch the wood floors warp in the sun patiently pacing til midnight We watch our corpses decompose in the bleached silver ray of the moonlight The years forget us as our bones turn to dust, she speaks only when lonely As we accept fate, just then a family of eight moves in for a small sum of money So now punished, I shall punish whoever inhabits this house- now a canvas, a puppet with my hand in it I move through the rooms like a hemorrhaged balloon I tickle your neck with the stink of my breath Now I garnish my hate with the torture of eight I sell them religion because we all need religion Now enter the priest! He shrieks latin and sprays water I stick to the walls In this house I am God In every home a ghost exists, with every moan the house admits.