Number 8, please.
Click and clack, my life's come back, she'd been away in a southern sea, chasing memories.
Chic and shack, my girlfriend's back is sore because of the baby's knees.
The baby's knees dig in, dig in, or at least that's what I say.
I say it because it rhymes.
When I could look out of the window and imagine Blake behind steel walls I wish I knew more, I wish I'd never smoked although perhaps, then, I'd be blind.
What do you think and why? That question to number 8, please, Cilla.
Chic and shack, my girlfriend's back is sore because of the baby's knees.
The baby's knees dig in, dig in, or at least that's what I say.
I say it because it rhymes.
When I could look out of the window and imagine Blake behind steel walls I wish I knew more, I wish I'd never smoked although perhaps, then, I'd be blind.
What do you think and why? That question to number 8, please, Cilla.
posted by yumen at
9:03 am
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