Black Forrest - The House | Текст песни

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• Black Forrest
• The House

I like to do a lot of things:
To eat, to sleep, to drink, to sing.
A winelist in my head.
I tighten the tights in bread.

In the house I see a person,
I’ve not liked to do things in term.
Television likes telefax and spoon.
He doesn’t have things to confirm.

A connoisseur tells me the lie
About me and my ally.
Mr. Monk is completely alive,
He loves Irishwomen and all their life.

A pickaxe persuades him to sit alone.
He sits on a pew in the local church
She doesn’t wanna dismiss her own
Pleasure she (he) had and wanted (to) dispatch.


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