2 acessos
Oh how irony can taint
a perfect painting of justice
In a shabby room where the judges hide
there is no innocence, but confession
She fell into the Seine
her voice still haunting you among the Dutchmen
Tonight there will be fog
on the Zuider Zee
and in your head
Oh how irony can taint
a perfect painting of justice
Pureness is ephemeral
muddied with our best kept secrets
You hear the foghorn sound
You can't stand to be below all the laughter
Tonight there will be fog
on the Zuider Zee
and in your head
I know just how he fell
Now I know just how he fell into it
Alone above Lake Superior
like a stolen judge in hiding