Pretty Girls Make Graves (Tate) — текст песни (Smiths, The)

Upon the sand, upon the bay
There is a quick and easy way you say
Before you illustrate
I`d rather state :
I`m not the man you think I am
I`m not the man you think I am

And Sorrow`s native son
He will not smile for anyone


And Pretty Girls Make Graves
Oh ...


End of the pier, end of the bay
You tug my arm, and say : Give in to lust,
Give up to lust, oh heaven knows we`ll
Soon be dust ...


Oh, I`m not the man you think I am
I`m not the man you think I am


And Sorrow`s native son
He will not rise for anyone


And Pretty Girls Make Graves
Oh really ?
Oh ...


I could have been wild and I could have
Been free
But Nature played this trick on me


She wants it Now
And she will not wait
But she`s too rough
And I`m too delicate


Then, on the sand
Another man, he takes her hand
A smile lights up her face
(and well, it would)


I lost my faith in Womanhood
I lost my faith in Womanhood
I lost my faith ...
Oh ...


Hand in glove ...
The sun shines out of our behinds ...
Oh ...