December all over. Maybe you're the one to make this winter better. It's the foggy streets that have me running back to safety. But then this feeling
Don't listen to what they say. They're jealous, but it's ok. It'll be me you wake next to each day, and when they're shaking their heads just turn away
I wish that I could talk the way that they talk or give you those looks that have you begging for more Oh, I'm sorry But I have me to offer and that's
Shaking hands had never been so intense. Our fingers meeting, missing puzzle pieces uniting. But I remember feeling your soft hands blanketing mine.
the winter and I'm starting to see change, so I take a walk to see if any thing's the same. And as I paced the winter streets I felt a beat in exchange
Hall passes and at first glance, emergency personal break. Blinded by greeting signs, she locks the doors; squeezes me against her hips. We're touching
Here we go now. Our bodies touching, but you're fighting it, and you know that I know you're into me. Stop fighting it. The sweat running off my palms
of Lucifer's choir On the streets of madness The predator rules, stalking the night On the streets of madness The demons alive On the streets of
Shaking hands had never been so intense. Our fingers meeting, missing puzzle pieces uniting. But I remember feeling your soft hands blanketing mine
I wish that I could talk the way that they talk or give you those looks that have you begging for more Oh, I'm sorry But I have me to offer and that'
Don't listen to what they say. They're jealous, but it's ok. It'll be me you wake next to each day, and when they're shaking their heads just turn
in the winter and I'm starting to see change, so I take a walk to see if any thing's the same. And as I paced the winter streets I felt a beat in exchange
Down on the street where the faces shine Floatin' around I'm a real low mind See a pretty thing in a wall See a pretty thing in a wall In a wall In a
street fighting man A street fighting man For a street fighting man A street fighting man For a street fighting man A street fighting man For a street
died when I was seven Pops died, eleven, what's up with heaven? It's hell when you're an orphan at a early age This impressionable stage, no love breeds rage