My oh my, do you wanna say "Goodbye"? To have their Kingdom, baby, tell me why My oh my, do you wanna say "Goodbye"? To rule a country, baby, you and
the land of free love and goodbye The river's ever flowing, fishing growing And the God I love loves me. In the sky rides a gleam of white horses And
In the white room with black curtains near the station Black roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings Silver horses ran down moonbeams in your
In a white room with black curtains, near the stations Black roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings Silver horses run down moonbeams in your
In a white room with black curtains in the station blackroof country no go pavements tired starlings silver horses burnt out moonbeams in your dark
kiss, unstoppable This kiss, this kiss Cinderella said to Snow White "How does love get so off course, oh All I wanted was a white knight With a good heart, soft touch, fast horse
drink of gin The next thing you know I'm reeling rocking and drunk again Sixteen coal black horses all hitched up in a line In that pretty buggy she's ridin' goodbye
raced through my mind as I stood there I had but one chance and that was to run Out to the backdoor of Rosa's I ran out where the horses were tied I
raced through my mind as I stood there I had but one chance that was to run Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran out where the horses were tied
through my mind as I stood there I had but one chance, and that was to run Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran Out where the horses were tied
through my mind as I stood there I had but one chance and that was to run Out to the backdoor of Rosa's I ran Out where the horses were tied I caught
from his point of view, it's untrue A likely story I heard before so I'll paint it black I read it but it's about as black as white In the presence
In the white room with black curtains by the station Blackroof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings Silver horses ran down moonbeams in your dark
cook up; others are works of inspiration, of poetry; and it was this genius hand that pushed me up the hotel stairs to say my last goodbye to a hair as white
I was five and he was six We rode on horses made of sticks He wore black and I wore white He would always win the fight Bang, bang, he shot me down Bang