Vārdi: Black Crowes. Croweology. Nonfiction.

I don't know my telephone number
But you kiss good and I'd like to see you tomorrow
And I don't beg, I pay, I don't barter
If we had a child I'd like a son, not a daughter
No she'd be just like you you know that would not do

I'm no builder, I'm no gardener I sing some songs
Have a friend who's a photographer
There ain't no other language I know how to speak
Some like their water shallow and I like mine deep so very deep
Tied to the bottom with a noose around my feet

Clouds conspire above my head
I overheard them say I wish he was dead
Today the sunset burned my eyes
In the next room I hear someone cry

I like to dress up like the jury
To eat like a king, to poke fun at clergy
To talk like dirt to love you like tar
But never fall in too fast with my north star, no no no
While you pull your hair out I buy the drinks at the bar

Clouds conspire above my head
I overheard them say I wish he was dead
Today the sunset burned my eyes
In the next room I hear someone cry