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David Bowie - I'd Rather Be High

I'd Rather Be High
David Bowie
03:45
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Текст песни

Nabokov is sun-licked now
Upon the beach at Grunewald,
Brilliant and naked just
The way that author looks.

Clare and Lady Manners drink
Until the other cows go home,
Gossip till their lips are bleeding,
Politics and all.

I'd rather be high,
I'd rather be flying,
I'd rather be dead
Or out of my head,
Than training these guns on those men in the sand.
I'd rather be high.

The Thames was black, the Tower dark,
I flew to Cairo, find my regiment.
City's full of generals,
And generals full of shit.

I stumble to the graveyard and I,
Lay down by my parents,
Whisper, ‘Just remember, duckies,
Everybody gets got'.

I'd rather be high,
I'd rather be flying,
I'd rather be dead
Or out of my head,
Than training these guns on those men in the sand.
I'd rather be high.

I'm seventeen my looks can prove it,
I'm so afraid that I will lose it.
I'd rather smoke and phone my ex,
Be pleading for some teenage sex,
Yeah!

I'd rather be high,
I'd rather be flying,
I'd rather be dead
Or out of my head,
Than training these guns on those men in the sand.
I'd rather be high.

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