| They’re pickin’up pieces of me,
|
| While they’re pickin’up pieces of you.
|
| In a bag you will be, before the day is over.
|
| Were you looking for somewhere to be?
|
| Or looking for someone to do?
|
| Stupid me, to believe that I could trust in stupid you.
|
| And on the back of my hand,
|
| Were, directions I could understand.
|
| Now that old buzzard Johnnie Walker,
|
| Has gone and ruined all our plans.
|
| Our best-made plans.
|
| Don’t leave me here, to pass through time,
|
| Without a map, or road sign.
|
| Don’t leave me here, my guiding light,
|
| Cause I, I wouldn’t know where to begin.
|
| I asked the kings of medicine.
|
| They’re pickin’up pieces of me,
|
| While they’re pickin’up pieces of you.
|
| Lying on ice you will be before the day is over.
|
| It’s a case in point baby,
|
| That you never thought it through.
|
| Stupid me, to believe I could depend on stupid you.
|
| And on the tip of my tongue,
|
| Were, words that always came out wrong.
|
| Cause they were drowned in Southern Comfort,
|
| Left to dry-out in the sun,
|
| The noon-day sun.
|
| Don’t leave me here, to pass through time,
|
| Without a map, or road sign.
|
| Don’t leave me here, my guiding light,
|
| Cause I, I wouldn’t know where to begin.
|
| I asked the kings of medicine,
|
| But it seems that they’ve lost their powers.
|
| Now all I’m left with it’s the hour.
|
| Don’t leave me here, to pass through time,
|
| Without a map, or road sign.
|
| Don’t leave me here, my guiding light,
|
| Cause I, I wouldn’t know where to begin.
|
| I asked the kings of medicine,
|
| But it seems that they have lost their powers.
|
| Now all I’m left with it’s the hour.
|
| Don’t leave me here,
|
| Don’t leave me here, oh no-oh,
|
| I wouldn’t know where to begin. |