The ribbon round your neck against your skin that's pale as bone It is my favorite thing you've worn The band is playing our song And we won't go home
The ribbon round your neck Aganist your skin that's pale as bone If is my favorite thing you've worn The band is playing our song And we wan't go home
Translation: Waits, Tom. Wed.
: The ribbon round your neck Aganist your skin that's pale as bone If is my favorite thing you've worn The band is playing our song And we wan't go home
exit the old style, enters the new But nothing's new 'bout being hawked by a crew Or should I say flock 'cause around every block There's Harry, Dick, and Tom
't cry for me For I'm going away And I'll be back some lucky day Tell the boys back home I'm doing just fine I left my troubles and woe So sing about
the boquet there are no dead presidents we can fold nothing is going our way and it's more than goodbye I have to say to you it's more than woe-be-gotten
