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• Artiste: Mourning Widows
• Titre: The Temp
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She's my baby. She is a Raygun Kissing my spaceship. Kill me for fun fun She is my sunshine. My only sunshine Painting my bluesky. Yellow with jaundice. She's temp, she's temp She got a special place for you She's temp, She's temp Underneath her favorite pair of shoes Suicides are fed, modern love rises like bread Playing catch with living skulls Hurry up, somebody's dead, we're still alive She my baby, she got the big gulp Devour my soul food over and over Trouble breathing, my world is strangling Lovely gorilla, she strictly hands on She's temp, She's temp She's into nucleo and nucliete She's temp, She's temp She makes me feel like I'm hovering 580 meters over Hiroshima Just a piece of sun On your skin I burn a home Lying lotion soothes the pain Peel me off before I fall She's to blame, she seems a bit insane She likes it when it rains all day long Happiness is knockin', but she cries Then turning out the light she runs at night