Clare Bowditch & the Feeding Set
this bastard disease
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I'm not sure who to confide in any more about you
Nobody can say, nobody can explain
From here, where to?
I want to protect you
I want to kill this bastard disease
But it will not talk to me
On good days
It's fair to say your face lights up for me
You still remind me of all that once did bind
Of all the little happy things
I want to protect you
I want to kill this bastard disease
But it will not talk to me