Letra de Lost Art of Murder / The Good Old Days (Live at the S.E.C.C.)
Roll a four, roll a nine Find yourself washed up in paradise Just like before, you never used to mind Someone else washed up in paradise, everydayWhat a nice day for a murder You call yourself a killer, but the only thing that you're killing now is your time There's nothing absurder Than a burd', it's just a burden to your heart, soul, body, spirit and mind Oh, don't look at me like that, she won't take you back I just said too much, you've been far too unkindGet up off your back, stop smoking that You could change your life but, did you think you'll change their mind?Roll a four, roll a nine Find yourself washed up in paradise All the fours to all the nines So I lost my phone, entirely, guys At the pace you goWhat a nice day for a murder You say you're a killer, but the only thing that you're killing now is your time There's nothing absurder than a burd' It's just a burden to your heart, soul, body, spirit and mind Oh, don't look at me like that, she won't take you back I just said too much, you've been too unkindGet up off your back, stop smoking that She could change her life for you, and you just might change her mindIf Queen Boadicea is long dead and gone Spirit in the children's children's children Oh, it lives onAnd if Elvis, he was the King, had his piece of the pie (This is the name of his latest flame) (What a lame name for his latest flame) Well, now his century's over and I'm having mine (This is the name of his latest flame)If you've lost your faith in love and music Oh, the end won't be long Because if it's gone for you, I too may lose it So that would be wrongI've tried so hard to keep myself from falling Back into my bad old ways And it drives my heart to always hear you calling Calling for the good old days'Cause there were no good old days