1. |
'D.N.A.'
03:40
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Douglas he sits at his computer desk
Trying to find his place in the world
Imagining people that don’t exist
Making up names quite at random
Slowly he fades back into himself
It can sure help with the boredom
Stories can have a life of their own
If you only just let them
Real life is a bit of a drag
Oh well, ne te confundant
It’s in his D.N.A.
They say he’s never been to Wonderland
And he’s never danced with Alice
She only just his mirror girl
Just a false reality
People try to put him down
Everyday of his life
Tell him lies not truth - what can he do?
I’m telling you about it
Douglas tells himself he’s more than that
But he just can’t believe it
It’s in his D.N.A.
Flying high above the clouds
Looking to the distance
You see London town down below
Passing place you’ve never heard of
Douglas can see into his future now
Making plans, hopes and dreams
Not everything’s been written yet
The present’s never perfect
Even my song’s not over yet
Douglas thinks things might elude him
It’s in his D.N.A.
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2. |
'Am I Breathing?'
03:46
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For the first time in my life
Am I breathing?
Well, there’s never been a time that I
Was not bleeding
For the first time in my life
Am I breathing?
‘Cause the acid in my mind
Has stopped seething
And, instead of that sense of impending doom inside,
I feel that there could be a future in my sight
For the first time in my life
Am I breathing?
I don’t think that I’m depressed -
Am I breathing?
Well, my life is in a mess -
But I’m leading
I don’t think that I’m depressed -
Am I breathing?
Somehow I’m regaining so much sense;
So much feeling
And finally, when I felt all I had was spent -
Suddenly, I am in skin that was meant!
I don’t think that I’m depressed -
Am I breathing?
Oh, far be it from me to try to rattle your cage
The sadness in your eyes fills all that I am with shame
It’s not been my intention to force you to turn a page
The guilt I feel inside slices my soul every way
I’d got to where ‘I’ was a concept that I could not sustain
And something came over me that I could not contain
A tender girlish hand took mine when I couldn’t live with the pain
I couldn’t live with the pain
I can only be me when I’ve got what she’s got
I’ll only be happy when I’ve got what she wants
Am I breathing?
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3. |
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4. |
Memories Of Serotonin
02:09
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Douglas he sits at his computer desk
Trying to find his place in the world
Imagining people that don’t exist
Making up names quite at random
Slowly he fades back into himself
It can sure help with the boredom
Stories can have a life of their own
If you only just let them
Real life is a bit of a drag
Oh well, ne te confundant
They say he’s never been to Wonderland
And he’s never danced with Alice
She only just his mirror girl
Just a false reality
People try to put him down
Everyday of his life
Tell him lies not truth - what can he do?
I’m telling you about it
Douglas tells himself he’s more than that
But he just can’t believe it
Flying high above the clouds
Looking to the distance
You see London town down below
Passing place you’ve never heard of
Douglas can see into his future now
Making plans, hopes and dreams
Not everything’s been written yet
The present’s never perfect
Even my song’s not over yet
Douglas thinks things might elude him.
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5. |
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© Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
Dulce et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, –
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
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Z UK
ALEXANDRA : Vox, Keyboards
"DEEP THOUGHT" : Everything Else...
RANDOM : Vox, Percussion
TEE : Bass Guitar
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