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Manic Street Preachers Lipstick Traces A Secret History Of Manic Street Preachers

then I count to ten Shake some hands and then I feel ashamed I'm in control but I am out of time I've lost the need for any desire, any desire I had a

fingers scrape our lives until we are bought Screaming comatose with blackboard chalk Siphoned minds suck a wallet full of love Spitting out a language

I see you standin' there You think you're so cool Why don't you just Fuck off Ya get nothin' for nothin', if that's what ya do Turn around bitch, I got a

wanna dance with me I took my love on over 'cross the tracks And she began, her man a wailin' sax I must admit they had a rockin' band Man they were blowin' like a

digest Xenophobia or general disinterest I must catch up with all this stuff They call me a boring fuck head They say, I might as well work in a bank

James Dean Bradfield/Sean Moore) Obedience to the law is free desire Under curfew from neon barbed wire Wasting away this country, wearing like a born

Written by: gillespie/beattie Here she comes again With vodka in her veins Been playing with a spike She couldn't get it right Splendour in silver dress

A framed adolescence steeped in the history of you Stopping the summer once for you Experience is lost on me, I am melancholia eternally But I still smile

form a queue Try nothing hard There's nothing else you can do And when you're wet You're getting dryer You used to speak the truth But now you're a liar