I spent most of the nineties trying to write a new song every day. What a complete and utter fucking waste of time that was. 
Work, beer, idea, fumble, song, record, bed, work, continue...

Go to sleep, go to sleep
I don't want to hear my obituary
I'm out of luck, I'm out of touch
You've told me twice, I don't want to hear it
Shut your eyes, shut your mouth
Save me just one orifice
Yeah just the one, perhaps two
It's the only thing I can give to you

Pretend you were singing - I usually do

Why should I question you?
I've got no interest in such things
I'm sure you'll do what you have to do
It's all about rings and sex and what's new
And sacrifice, those photographs
And promised love and...     laugh

Pretend you were singing - You're just a creep!

An end of sense, indifference
Put my foot in the shit again
The word was out, the drunk's about
Ripping up lives with his jealous tirade
An end to it all, the ultimate stall
They say he never gave a thought to how they saw him
In couches all, his curtain call
Lashing out wildly, it was in his nature

Pretend you were singing
I'm just a creep
Pretend you were singing
My throat's so deep
Pretend you were singing
Your throat's so deep
Pretend you were singing
Your throat's so deep

02 Somnlos

Lars Hollén

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