Originally on the album "Songs from the early house"
This fet like the first song I wrote that I wasn't afraid to push my voice for.
Some of the lyrics I probably wouldn't write now
lyrics
It's the kind of cold
That cuts like a razor
ansd keeps all the sane ones indoors
the only ones left on the streets tonight
are fools and drunks, old scores
and i freely admit I've been one or two
sometimes even more
There are animal tracks in the snow
bigger than a dog or cat you know
and all those things you hide away
won't wash away
It's the kind of word
that cuts like a surgeon
spoken out loud
by the lost and damned
and I freely admit
I spoke myself
it was sometimes even planned
Theres a buxzzing sound in the air
when something dies or was never there
and all those things you hide away
can't wash away
cant wash away
The silence between wprds is like
the cotton
that seperates skin from skin
the silence between words is like a guard
in a booth
on the borderline
he's waiting for an enemy
waiting for some action
like you wait for your saviour
like I wait
for the kind of girl
who makes a believer
from all those boys
who fucked up church
and I can see them standing in line
they've got something
missing
from their eyes
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