Text1.ru Beck - Cold Brains

Cold brains, unmoved
Untouched, unglued
Alone at last
No thoughts, no mind
To rot behind
A trail of disasters
A final curse
Abandoned hearse
We ride disowned
Corroded to the bone
The fields of green
Are bent, obscene
I lay upon the gravel
A worm of hope
A hangman’s rope
Pulls me one way or the other
A final curse
Abandoned hearse
We write this song
Corroded to the bone
A bird of song
Is heard no longer
In the evacuated heavens
The drain is drawn
And drained and gone
And on and on
It doesn’t matter


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