Everywhere I seem to go
Ticket sales and face painters
Boomerangs fly in the air
There's little bugs in my hair
Second chances never fair
Brings along a load of wear
Feeling sad again
Hearing crimes in my head
Along with things left unsaid
A million festers waiting to be fed
Everywhere I seem to go
Ticket sales and face painters
Boomerangs fly in the air
Little bugs in my hair
People walk down the street
They never look down at their feet
Feeling sad again
Hearing crimes in my head
Along with things left unsaid
A million festers waiting to be fed

SOUMETTRE LES CORRECTIONS