F : FATIMA MANSIONS : тексты вне альбомов
FATIMA MANSIONS
The Door-to-door Inspector
The door-to-door inspector, his knuckles bare and white,
Is rapping on your window
'cause he knows you're hiding here tonight
He's travelled from the city to your country slum
Under rain and black clouds
And the burnt-out silver sun
He'll drop you where you stand
Lift the roof with his bare hands
And hand you down his just demands
As you huddle in your tiny corner
The door-to-door inspector now sits to eat his lunch
He scowls at last week's paper
In the worker's cafe, hushed
You made your choice whan mocking the ways of true grown men
Now may your woman-love protect you
As you face this grevious punishment you've earned
He'll drop you where you stand
Then journey home to wash those hands
And to his bed he'll trembling go
Passion not spent, a man alone
(with his hand)
Другие тексты без альбома FATIMA MANSIONS
- Viva Dead Ponies
- Broken Radio #1
- Look What I Stole for Us, Darling
- You're a Rose
- 1,000,000%
- Chemical Cosh
- Chemical Cosh[Scream Mix]
- The Door-to-door Inspector
- Angel's Delight
- Evil Man Ii
- As I Washed The Blood Off
- Farewell Oratorio
- Only Losers Take The Bus[Dump The Dead]
- Gary Numan's Porsche
- Pack of Lies
- Paper Thin Hotel
- I Do It for You
- John The Gun
- The White Knuckle Express
- Blues for Ceaucescu[Only Solution Mix]
- Sleep of The Just
- Thursday
Еще тексты песен от FATIMA MANSIONS