i mean really, why is it like one?
akiwawa
stumblin in an evening gown
woken up by seven sounds
timpanis and an english horn
come to bed where it's nice and warm
feel yer lips on my shower door
there's no preventin a class war
violins and a mellotron
a xylophone and a trumpeter swan
workin on ownin this outright
livin large in the living room
even though we're gonna die soon
fallin hard into disrepute
at least we get to hear the pan flute