Папа Круто все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

We don’t need all those fancy things
Let them take their pick from what they find
The women, the silver and the wine
And then they’ll lose their minds

We don’t need all those fancy things
The bread and water will serve us fine
We’ll burn the city to the ground

Wait for my love
Wait for my babe
I’m shufflin’ in the jailhouse
To count down my days

My baby’s been waitin’ for me
Since March ’99
She’ll be that gate when the sun comes up

Walk, till the feet are tired
Peel the clothes from your skin
Wait for the breeze to arrive
Walk, though your feet may hurt
On days like this you forgive
The cold and maybe worse
And the sun folds out
On the river and shines

Led forth onto shore
He worked them all till their bodies were sore
With sticks and stones he broke their bones
And with his words he killed some more
The trees were shaking, clinging onto life
Until he led them away
He led them away to the other side

They took my lady west, put walls and guns between our love,
And the city’s cries of protest lay beneath the bullets and dust.
These are my days, these are my days, and the bottle mirrors the heart.
I count them away, forever long to return to you.

We raised our voices and fists, I made my plans with care and desire,
I could cross from east to west by the routes of the canal.
I’ll leave by the night, the spring river tide will be kind to a body as weak as mine,