Juillet 2009
- 10 Juillet 2009 à 5h53
- The dust and the mess of our mornings,
Promise that we'll never quit
So drunk, though our hands surely woven
Entire fleets of staggering ships...
Now our ships line the floors of the ocean,
And the oceans breaching on the ridge,
And the terrified dreams of our wanderings
That once lit our way are now hid...
We want punks in the palace
'Cause punks got the loveliest dreams
And our gang is liquored and lovely,
And smart and sweet and lean,
And burn with a curious flame
That spits and kicks and shines
And trumpets the labour of wafing and trying
There ain't none - sometimes there (...)
