Fotzepolitic

My dreams are low, they’re sick and must be drossed *
( * dross = old english for "waste")
They’re young girl’s dreams.
True some do it and shoot
like the penny-lit stars
what i was just rude
Like the scary hairs on our singing hoof
like the scary hairs on our singing hooves
they move
A family fool, but it's you,
i can swoon inside me
then you’ll accept my things
A coloured star, but i feel strong
luck when bound lonely to lars**
when i'm empty headed
See ‘n saw bounce me back to you… will you?
see ‘n saw bounce me back to you… will you… oh will you?
My dreams are low, they’re sick and must be drossed
they’re young girl’s dreams.
See ‘n saw bounce me back to you… will you?
see ‘n saw bounce me back to you… will you… oh will you?
See ‘n saw bounce me back to you
see ‘n saw bounce me back to you
see ‘n saw bounce me back to you
will you?
See ‘n saw bounce me back to you
see ‘n saw bounce me back to you
see ‘n saw bounce me back to you
will you