| Oh they talk, they talk, they mettle more
|
| Droning lives need a change of key
|
| «Are they on? |
| Are they off?» |
| That’s what they’ll ask
|
| It gives pleasure to the displeased
|
| And I won’t hold the future to your eye
|
| Cause we’re already waiting to die
|
| And we can change our minds
|
| One hundred thousand times
|
| Oh they pry, they peek, they presume it all
|
| Dreary scope needs a change of scene
|
| Does she know, does she care that’s what they’ll ask
|
| It gives pleasure to the displeased
|
| And I won’t hold the future to your eye
|
| Yeah, we’re already waiting to die
|
| And we can change our minds
|
| One hundred thousand times
|
| Tell me all the times you have ever known the reaction
|
| Maybe you prefer all things that would confound
|
| And maybe we’ll search for a while to decide
|
| And I won’t hold the future to your eye
|
| Cause we’re already waiting to die
|
| And we can change our minds
|
| One hundred thousand times
|
| I won’t hold the future to your eye
|
| Yeah, we’re already waiting to die
|
| And we can change our minds
|
| One hundred thousand times
|
| One hundred thousand times |