Sundays She текст песни, слова песни She Sundays
Sundays - She
she canЎЇt speak with the lights so low
just to be one of a crowd
feet scuttling across the floor
spinning lights round and round
itЎЇs adolescent war
she craves noise and the music blares
girl calls to a boy (and my heart is true, oh to you)
he just stands and stares
just to be one of a crowd
feet scuttling across the floor
spinning lights round and round
and itЎЇs adolescent war
shoes grind kick like crazy
and arms tangling up with hair
shaking them up and down again
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