| Ancient love, my friend
|
| Love on the radio, nostalgia
|
| I hardly ever think of you
|
| I fed you to the vultures
|
| To the Holocaust, to the sailors
|
| Atomic love, Enola Gay
|
| Horror man, my mistake
|
| That I didn't even say goodbye to you
|
| That I didn't tell you why
|
| One Sunday I threw the photograph down the toilet
|
| In which we huddled tightly
|
| My fault
|
| If they saw you this year, they tell me
|
| Throwing up your eyes and soul at a rock concert
|
| Hugged to a dickhead
|
| A director, a choreographer, what do I know
|
| A job like any other, a drug
|
| To delude ourselves and believe that we are men
|
| (You said)
|
| I wanna be Amanda Lear
|
| The time of an LP
|
| Side A, side B
|
| We are not immortal, we burn and it is better this way
|
| Amanda Lear
|
| For one LP only
|
| Side A, side B
|
| That nothing lasts forever, not even music
|
| Lost love, my soul
|
| Love, Ninth Symphony
|
| I would like to know how you are
|
| If, as you write, everything is okay
|
| And if you really know now
|
| That I have become a monster
|
| Your fault
|
| If they saw me in the dark of an alley
|
| At the rear exit of a rock concert
|
| Making out with any bitch
|
| A chick, a painter, but what do I know
|
| Your cheap pessimism
|
| Clearly he had made converts
|
| (You said)
|
| I wanna be Amanda Lear
|
| The time of an LP
|
| Side A, side B
|
| That nothing lasts forever, it ends and it is better this way
|
| Amanda Lear
|
| For one LP only
|
| Side A, side B
|
| That nothing lasts forever, let alone you and me |