Tytuł: Wedding day

• Wykonawca: Paul Young
• Wyświetleń: 323

Woe is me, the press gang came
   And forced my love away
   Just when we named next morning fair
   To be our wedding day
   Like a silent explosion ripping into the heart
   And the hurt and the anguish do tear you apart
   With a swiftness of hand that I cannot condone
   And discardance of life that is not of your own
   Then a small piece of hear say becomes a big deal
   But that is not the issue, the issue is real.
   When a turn of the page can turn love into hate
   Don’t forget that’s the power of the fourth estate.
   And a tall string of words keep me tied to the chair
   Where before I was blistfully unaware
   And my skin becomes thicker so I never get hurt
   I’m a man without feeling and I wish that I weren’t
   Though you’re long dead and gone there is still no escape
   Just forget it, just forget it, you’ll never cut all that tape
   And once you’re a victim, your love will turn to hate
   Don’t forget that’s the power of the fourth estate.