The Apple Polishers

Tie

The Apple Polishers


I wake up this morning and there’s nothing but the same,
nothing but the same, nothing but the same.
I look to the mirror, there’s a blackhead on my face,
oh, my fucking face, oh my ugly face.

I pick up my tie, there’s nothing to understand,
nothing to complain, gotta work again.
On the traffic jam, I think that life is just a game,
but there’s no end, but there’s no end.

Oh, my plastic life, I don’t wanna die.
Custom-made life, I just cannot cry.

I see the fireworks celebrating a new year,
oh, just one more year, another promise to hear.
I look to the mirror, there’s a blackhead on my face,
oh, my fucking face, oh my ugly face.

Composição: Henrique De La Rosa

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