David Bowie — A Small Plot Of Land

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Текст David Bowie — A Small Plot Of Land

Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The Barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
He’s less than within us

The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer can’t travel
So far
These days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way\

Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul