Song | Indie Cindy |
Artist | Pixies |
Album | VISIONS: All Areas, Volume 161 |
Put this down for the record | |
It’s more or less un-checkered | |
Wasted days and wasted nights | |
Made me a ******* beggar | |
No soul, my milk is curdled | |
I’m the burgermeister of purgatory | |
Look out for that hot plate | |
Guess that’s all you got, great | |
You put the **** in ****tail, man | |
Well I put the tail WAIT! | |
Watch me walk | |
Blowtorch a hole in the armor | |
And I don’t need the tip | |
I am in love with your daughter | |
And though she has no need | |
I’m the one who’s got some trotters | |
You’ve many mouths to feed | |
Indie Cindy | |
Be in love with me | |
I beg for you to carry me | |
Mixed messages from Sir Naff | |
Please authenticate | |
Just to be sure that you’re a sap | |
Set for stun automatica | |
Crap is their operative | |
Locomotive of the longest death | |
There goes Indie Cindy whose | |
Sails were black when it was windy | |
We offed ourselves in a lover’s pact | |
We threw ourselves into the sea | |
Well looksie what the wind washed back | |
As we follow the bouncing ball | |
They call this dance the washed up crawl | |
I beg for you to carry me | |
I beg for you to carry me |
Put this down for the record | |
It' s more or less uncheckered | |
Wasted days and wasted nights | |
Made me a beggar | |
No soul, my milk is curdled | |
I' m the burgermeister of purgatory | |
Look out for that hot plate | |
Guess that' s all you got, great | |
You put the in tail, man | |
Well I put the tail WAIT! | |
Watch me walk | |
Blowtorch a hole in the armor | |
And I don' t need the tip | |
I am in love with your daughter | |
And though she has no need | |
I' m the one who' s got some trotters | |
You' ve many mouths to feed | |
Indie Cindy | |
Be in love with me | |
I beg for you to carry me | |
Mixed messages from Sir Naff | |
Please authenticate | |
Just to be sure that you' re a sap | |
Set for stun automatica | |
Crap is their operative | |
Locomotive of the longest death | |
There goes Indie Cindy whose | |
Sails were black when it was windy | |
We offed ourselves in a lover' s pact | |
We threw ourselves into the sea | |
Well looksie what the wind washed back | |
As we follow the bouncing ball | |
They call this dance the washed up crawl | |
I beg for you to carry me | |
I beg for you to carry me |