Текст: Mountain Goats, The. Going To Some Damned English City.

your skirt was red and flowing,

your blouse was blue

on the night i locked eyes with you.

it seemed to me like i hadn't seen your eyes since last december.



my shredding muscles

my popping joints

i saw the pupils of your eyes by firelight shrinking down to pinpoints

you were poking at the embers

there's a cold wind coming off the ocean.

there's a cold wind coming off the ocean.



i wet my finger with my tongue and pressed it in the ashes,

rubbed it up against your perfect eyelashes.

you said something really important,

something pretty seems to have slipped my mind.

walls were freezing, so was the floor.

i didn't want to hurt you anymore.

you had a sad, sad, friend in front of you,

that dying fire behind.

there was a cold wind coming off the ocean.

there was a cold wind coming off the ocean.