I’m sitting at this table called love, Staring down at the irony of life. How come we’ve reached this fork in the road, And yet it cuts like a knife? I’m Not Crying by Flight of the Conchords
I’m sitting at this table called love, Staring down at the irony of life. How come we’ve reached this fork in the road, And yet it cuts like a knife? I’m Not Crying by Flight of the Conchords
