NOLTDA

I hit the hound of London town where the Sheets are stained with gold. And every morning the sun comes up, I'm on the ceiling, controlled. Hanging on by a burning thread. Never felt so right. I just want to lose my head. No one leaves this discotheque alive. Love is born in a perfect storm. At least that's what I'm told. A man weeps, a woman yawns in the strip Light afterglow. Hanging on by a burning thread. Never felt so right. I just want to lose my head. No one leaves this discotheque Alive. No one leaves this Discotheque Alive. one Leaves this discotheque alive.