| Don't talk to me, don't love me
|
| That I'm not for anyone
|
| I'm not in the mood for love
|
| And I'm cold and hot
|
| What bad wind brings it
|
| That I always fall
|
| always the same
|
| happens every sunday
|
| That of the wool that I owe and that sometimes I have
|
| Who do I pay first without going to zero
|
| What if I'm made a pig or made a stick
|
| If my fringe leaves me, I'm getting shriveled
|
| And that's what I get for ignoring myself
|
| For sending me to the 'gaver' when I self-scold
|
| For making songs that are the only thing they talk about
|
| Be my Sunday afternoon depressions
|
| Mayel, why?, why
|
| Does DDT terrify you so much?
|
| Terror and what a downturn
|
| This damn day is a hymn to agony, what a depression
|
| And I climbed into this song
|
| While fortune played the intercom
|
| I couldn't hear it
|
| He called my cell
|
| I did not manage to answer
|
| And I don't have a mailbox
|
| The strangest things happen this day
|
| The voices say things like so that I laugh
|
| They end up convincing me that this is my thing
|
| And that I look more asshole every time I smile
|
| That's what I get for going too far
|
| What I do in the week today takes revenge
|
| For making songs that are the only thing they talk about
|
| Be my Sunday afternoon depressions
|
| Mayel, why?, why
|
| Does DDT terrify you so much?
|
| Terror and what a downturn
|
| This damn day is a hymn to agony, what a depression
|
| Mayel, why?, why
|
| Does DDT terrify you so much?
|
| Terror and what a downturn
|
| This damn day is a hymn to agony, what a depression |