| I was waiting in the back-seat of the car
|
| When I knew I’d given up Down one of the back-streets by the park
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| So sick of the taste of blood
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| I’m gonna write your girl a letter
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| It’ll make everything better
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| Screaming down the phone-line to your mum
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| She said, «Honey ain’t home right now»
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| I bought a tuxedo and I bought a gun
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| And wore them all around this town
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| Nobody dares to lift a finger
|
| They can see my heart is down and injured
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| If I’m guilty of anything
|
| It’s loving you too much
|
| Honey, sometimes, love
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| Means getting a little rough
|
| This is not bad love
|
| This is not bad love
|
| I’ve been going to church but I don’t believe
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| I’ll ever be clear this pain
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| Walk like a ghost through the streets
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| Soaked from the pouring rain
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| And I won’t ask your god for mercy
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| My spirits are low, my soul is dirty
|
| If I’m guilty of anything
|
| It’s loving you too much
|
| Honey, sometimes, love
|
| Means getting a little rough
|
| This is not bad love
|
| This is not bad love
|
| If I’m guilty of anything
|
| It’s loving you too much
|
| Honey, sometimes, love
|
| Means getting a little rough
|
| This is not bad love
|
| This is not bad love
|
| If I’m guilty of anything
|
| It’s loving you too much
|
| Honey, sometimes, love
|
| Means getting a little rough
|
| This is not bad love
|
| This is not bad love |