Pulp - The Trees
I took an air-rifle, shot a magpie to the ground & it died without a sound
Your skin so pale against the fallen autumn leaves and
No-one saw us but the trees Yeah, the trees, those useless trees produce the air that I am breathing
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees; they never said that you were leaving
Your skin so pale against the fallen autumn leaves and
No-one saw us but the trees Yeah, the trees, those useless trees produce the air that I am breathing
Yeah, the trees, those useless trees; they never said that you were leaving
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