Lletres:
Blur Fried

dead Oh I'd like to get into that pretty head And it would amuse me to see How you feel about me How you feel about always getting fried Did I say

Traducció: Difuminar. Fregit.

dead Oh, I?d like to get into that pretty head And it would amuse me to see How you feel about me How you feel about always getting fried Did I say I

dead Oh, I?d like to get into that pretty head And it would amuse me to see How you feel about me How you feel about always getting fried Did I say I

next Your conscience becomes sub-conscious Soon your response is nonsense The last words are blurred mumbled then slurred Then your verbs are no longer heard You get your lung fried

wall table Telling jokes playing with the salt, lookin' out the window Girl brings two plates of full English Over with plenty of scrambled eggs and plenty of fried

hope that this session is, nearing completion interstellar highs, and disconcerting lows sound of drums beating and super nova braincells so many revelations came and went so fast nothing but the blur