Текст песни Building - Funeral for a Friend
Shouldering
the
blame
Walking
into
frame
Like
a
lighted
silhouette,
against
a
cotton
sheet
You
smile
in
the
crease.
Tin
can
in
hand,
waiting
for
God
to
come
around
But
he
never
comes
around,
he
never
comes
around.
Quite
like
a
mouse,
building
up
your
house
Just
pretend
the
town,
leaving
us
the
pieces...
Do
they
ever
fit?
Tin
can
in
hand,
waiting
for
God
to
come
around
But
he
never
comes
around,
he
never
comes
around.
Tin
can
in
hand,
waiting
for
God
to
come
around,
But
he
never
comes
around,
he
never
comes
around.
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