Letras:
The Postal Service

: Smeared black ink... your palms are sweaty And I'm barely listening to last demands I'm staring at the asphalt wondering what's buried underneath

: I take a breath and pull the air in 'til there's nothing left I'm feeling green like teenage lovers between the sheets Ba ba ba ba ... Knuckles clenched

: I've got a cupboard with cans of food, filtered water, And pictures of you and i'm not coming out Until this is all over And i'm looking through the

: I'll write you a song and it won't be hard to sing It will be a natural anthem, familiar it will seem It will rally all the workers on strike for better

: I'll be the grapes fermented, Bottled and served with the table set in my finest suit Like a perfect gentlemen I'll be the fire escape that's bolted

: It was familiar to me the smoke too thick to breathe the tile floors glistened i slowly stirred my drink and when you started to sing you spoke with

: [Flaming Lips Cover] Putting all the vegetables away that you bought at the grocery store today. And it goes fast, you think of the past. Suddenly

I, I'm thinking it's a sign That the freckles in our eyes Are mirror images, and when we kiss They're perfectly aligned I have to speculate That God

I'll write you a song and it won't be hard to sing It will be a natural anthem, familiar it may seem It will rally all the workers on strike for better