the new amsterdamsin dinlenesi sarkisi..
there was honor among the thieves,
the only truth i could believe
but,when the lies applied to me
and mine its better left unsaid.
we could write the hit parade outside
the masquerade.
the headache comes in tidal waves,
the spoils of the spoiled..
the lines of history became the scenery.
its strictly an accessory, an image to uphold.
but, its all in fun and sin until someone calls it in.
the cycle comes around again.
but, im older now,
and dont you know,
ive figured out the antidote.
it overwhelms, engulfed in smoke.
its all we can to cope.
goddamn these idle hands as hindsight can.
our hopes and plans are unfulfilled.
its overwhelming.
theres a proper place and time though
the bags under your eyes, they dont lie...
the spoils of the spoiled
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