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Non Prophets

The Cure

319,00 прямо сейчас

Текст песни Non Prophets - The Cure

Non Prophets - The Cure слова песни

Don`t deny that sick feeling in your stomach you can`t run from itlet it guide you into high view and move beyond the summitfrom peeks to valleys speed through alleys if it`s done quickyou`ll have time to find the caves where the days are never sunlitfind the scriptures made by a society of blind menwho suggest the best direction`s where you most likely will find them..dead set on checkmates embracing a chess setwhen bedspreads get wet they`re left with the scent of death threatsin 7 seconds I`ll become undone, I`m breaking throughif you`re around by the time I reach number one I`m taking youYou`re not the traveling type? Then hide your baggage betterbefore you die a normal death and write the average letterabout your internal furnaceand how life`s a sexually transmitted disease that you contracted from her kisswhen a boy writes off the world it`s done with sloppy misspelled words ifa girl writes off the world it`s done in cursiveI`m searching for the curethis is a sicknesscan you hear me, love?I kick dirt for what it`s worth listening to the birds chirpthe same cryptic speech that the breeze speaks and sea repeatsrecognizing the cycles with every passing daywriting full demands in the sand with my toe til crashing waves washed it awayI watch what I say now but I hate ittrying to make my mark, afraid of the dark nature of vague statementsthat plague vacant parking lots where shopping carts go uncollectedthat sick feeling in my stomach start to leave my heart and soul infectedI won`t accept it. I do my best to reject patterns til it hurtsevery second making bad turns for the worseshe`s getting further away I can feel it in the way my bones acheThe ocean sealed it`s lips, now the waves won`t breakThe secrets it won`t say has got us trying to break codes in churchesand lately I`ve been hating its soul purposewhen a boy writes off the world it`s done with sloppy misspelled words ifa girl writes off the world it`s done in cursiveI`m searching for the curethis is a sicknesscan you hear me, love?Now I look for air pockets to pick, walk with a stick, start picking locks with itopening up heart-shaped lockets with little argumentsthe tawdry trinkets start to split and contradictthose who say one thing but think the oppositeI bit the dust tongue kissing documents in a smoke stackfaith is harder to swallow than pride it, turns our throats blackI want my home back. I know that`s not an available optionit`s the way that I`m walking in between a cradle and coffinthat makes me pace myself. if half the battle is done rightthe other half won`t take my health while jacking my shadow`s sunlightto crack it open and find the space between my breaths are desolatelife is just a lie with an "f" in it and death is definiteBut after I scratched the surfaceI never saw the calm before the storm act so nervouswhen a boy writes off the world it`s done with sloppy misspelled words ifa girl writes off the world it`s done in cursiveI`m searching for herCan you hear me, love?

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