You can feel the feather-filling balling up under your heels and you wonder how it isn't hot.
You don't want to die in a firey cannonball into red-Hell so you just stand still.
Now I suppose you know how i feel.
Hey ladybird fly away home
your house's on fire,
children all gone.
your house's on fire,
children all gone.
2 comments:
Like a national guitar.
two dollar pistol but the gun won't shoot
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