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A Small Plot of Land (Basquiat OST version)
David Bowie
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Poor soul
Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him (poor soul)
And it hit him so
Poor dunce (poor soul)
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed (poor soul)
The fool is dead
Poor dunce (poor soul)
He's less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer can't (poor soul)
Travel so far these days
The talk of your lives (poor soul)
Standing so near
Two innocent eyes (poor soul)
Poor dunce
Swings through the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce (poor soul)
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
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