33 thoughts on “My style

  1. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
    Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality
    Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see
    I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
    Because I’m easy come, easy go
    Little high, little low
    Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me

    Mama, just killed a man
    Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he’s dead
    Mama, life had just begun
    But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away
    Mama, ooh, didn’t mean to make you cry
    If I’m not back again this time tomorrow
    Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters

    (Excerpt from the song of a trefological bohemian, who found rhapsody in the electric chair.)

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