Clare Bowditch And The Feeding Set
This Bastard Disease
I'm not sure who to confide in any more about you.
Nobody can say. Nobody can explain
from here - where to?
I want to protect you.
I want to kill this bastard disease,
but it will not talk to me.
On good days
it's fair to say your face lights up for me.
You still remind me of all that once did bind,
of all the little happy things.
I want to protect you.
I want to kill this bastard disease,
but it will not talk to me.
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