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Wolf's Cry

de Hjaltalín

Dear young matt
Why has fate turned you around, and upside down?
You left a wife, a boy of mere nineteen winters gone, gone for long

It's well kosher that sunday roast I'll cook at nine
Come over, that brown eyed baby will be mine

Hitchin in hertfordshire
Topless drinking frostie jack's
'It will screw you over, sunshine

Dear old matt
Why can love not suit you well?
It's easy to dwell

It's well kosher that sunday roast I'll cook at nine
Just come over, that brown eyed baby will be mine

Your fever must break away
To flower, makes it hard to say
Just if you're lonely then throw that roast away
Put your shirt on, and see the light of day

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