Tekst:
Old 97 S The Grand Theatre

your toes in a string That sweeps away the river Survey all you see 'Cause there's still time to leave The prior hand of ramble Stay right if you can Oh, you poor old

' out my window Well, all that I can tell is That's you over there In the dance class I'm peekin' out a window now It's late, gettin' dark out That's

beauty marks The famous names The pub fills up Outside, it rains The knee-high boots The smoky eyes Nobody knows They're none the wise The city's a

She picks up a pen Writes down a word It doesn't feel right The novelty's gone The novel rolls on Until it's goodnight Will anyone read Much less understand

the sun Springfield's in the distance And that's the last big one After that comes judgment Oh, and judgment will be swift You will be eliminated But here's

to the real you So when you gonna be mine? The salesman is tryin' to sell you The talkin' head's tryin' to tell you Oh, but you know it's always been