domingo, 13 de noviembre de 2011

You'd better run.

Robert's got a quick hand. He'll look around the room, he won't tell you his plan. He's got a rolled cigarette,hanging out his mouth. He's a cowboy kid. He found a six shooter gun in his dads closet hidden in a box of fun things, and I don't even know what But he's coming for you.
Daddy works a long day. He'll be coming home late. And he's bringing me a surprise. 'Cause dinner's in the kitchen and it's packed in ice. I've waited for a long time. The slight of my hand is now a quick pull trigger. I reason with my cigarette, and say your hair's on fire. You must have lost your wits.

By: Foster The People

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario