cologne plus corrections
Alessandro Ott <alessandro.ott <at> fastwebnet.it>
2006-05-02 10:25:06 GMT
Daddy was a local drunk, Muma was the loosest girl in town.
Brother just some two-bit punk, mowed his Harley D into the ground.
Distant friends and relatives each of them a problem they would share.
From the in-laws to the outlaws quietly she would soak up their despair.
She was one of life's little angels, a job that don't pay well.
Guiding those to heaven that should have gone to hell.
Was it really worth it? Only time and death may ever tell.
She was the brick at the base of the house, a true foundation stone.
She was the colour, and the sound and the taste and the rose of my Cologne
Cousin Bobby killed a man, packed his bags and left with Lisa-Jane.
Sister was an also-ran, ran and never showed her face again.
Those daughters, sons and uncles all of them with problems of their own.
Professors, priests, policemen all would use the rose of my Cologne.
She was one of life's little angels, a job that don't pay well.
Guiding those to heaven that should have gone to hell.
Was it really worth it? Only time and death may ever tell.
She was the brick at the base of the house, a true foundation stone.
She was the colour, and the sound and the taste and the rose of my Cologne.
Finally she decided, less than half an hour it took to pack.
Climbed upon a motorbike, didn't wave goodbye or once look back.
She was the brick at the base of the house, a true foundation stone.
She was the colour, and the sound and the taste and the rose of my Cologne.
(Continue reading)