Text: Bush. Razorblade Suitecase. History.

:
gave my love to a thousand yesterdays
nothing is wrong i am always a little late
probably will
probably won't
get this disease cut out of my throat
all of a sudden you come my way
baby believer
i won't be saved
by morning after
struggling my name
slave turned to master

history moans
mouth of our father
history moans
mouth of my father

edge of my bed
benzedrine telephone
struggling to speak i am sicker than the sickest dog
falling faster than a liar's grin
we need to be saved from the shit we're in
i believe in you i have found
the perfect way
to bring me down

i won't be saved
by all your yesterdays
piss on my grave
piss on the underlay

history moans
mouth of our father
history moans
mouth of our father
mouth of our father
mouth of our father
mouth of our father
(it's the movement we're after)
mouth of our father
(it's the movement we're after)
mouth of our father

history moans
(it's the movement we're after)
history moans
(it's the movement we're after)
history moans
(it's the movement we're after)

history moans
mouth of our father
(mouth of our father)
mouth of our father
(mouth of our father)
mouth of our father