than beautiful You're everything to me It's not the way that you move It's not the glowing on your face when you smile that makes me trembling and calm It's
Tulkojums: Fool's Garden. Nekas.
more than beautiful You're everything to me It's not the way that you move It's not the glowing on your face when you smile that makes me trembling and calm It's
little Hitman's in the house my nigga Sisko's in the house my nigga X motherfucking Raided's in the house Kilo and Kilo G's in the house and Kilo's homies
crazy Just look at this town there's no men left Just frail old boys and babies Talking to teacher in the treble clef She plants her garden in the spring
life's fears Can invade my ears I can handle it I can laugh with a friend And remember the faces We wore at school Making the madness And solitary sadness A friendly fool
, to come alive, to survive It's not enough to listen, it's not enough to see When the hurricane is coming on, it's not enough to flee It's not enough
in your time Just don?t freeze like a deer in the headlight Sometimes it?s the risk of getting hurt That?s beautiful and worse Is being numb and feeling nothing
or say it's unreal. So many lies turn to songs, like roses who hide in their thorns. It's the end of the world, the end of the world. It's a prison
new albums that are whack Back on track, here?s the point, I?m safe, like what? Making sure the chemical room door?s always shut See that gardener?s
- [JACK'S MOTHER] I wish... [NARRATOR] Well, she was not quite beautiful- [JACK'S MOTHER] I wish my son were not a fool. I wish my house was not a
perfect hand that holds a gun or wields a butcher's blade, or leads to death, Leads to death the used-up bull or incarcerates the hopeless fool or takes
perfect hand that holds a gun or wields a butcher's blade Or leads to death Leads to death the used-up bull or incarcerates the hopeless fool Or takes
hear the widow speaking, And just to know if there could be something, You couldn't get that, yeah... Ah, you fools, don't you see? He's darker than he's
beats pipes and fiddle What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal What's sweeter than
the same old songs You stuff your moral rule book Of what's allowed, what's right and wrong Oh yeah, there's those who only criticise yet offer Nothing
