Fairytale Of New York
Sinatra was swinging, all the drunks they were singing…
Riding the outer ring of your own private Saturn, thoughts scattered all across the grey matter…
Monday’s just a bitch, Tuesday’s such a bother, Wednesday’s like watchin’ dead flowers grow…
I’ve got a tight grip on reality, but I can’t let go of what’s part of me here…
Don’t ask me what I think of you, I might not give the answer that you want me to…
And I know the night is fading, and I know the time’s gonna fly, and I’m never gonna tell you everything I gotta tell you, but I know I’ve got to give it a try…