Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Call the pastors army and
Tell them I'll be dead
The birds will eat my body
And swallow down my soul
Maybe then I can fly instead of
Rotting in a hole
Tell my wife I'm sorry
For the gates on me have closed
I Cannot be her angel, no
For my feathers are the crows, so
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Gather neighbors all around
For their bad man will be dead
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Call the pastors army and
Tell them I'll be dead
The birds will eat my body
And swallow down my soul
Maybe then I can fly instead of
Rotting in a hole
Tell my wife I'm sorry
For the gates on me have closed
I Cannot be her angel, no
For my feathers are the crows, so
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Gather neighbours all around
For their bad man will be dead
Tooka - The Dirt Lyrics
Tooka - The Dirt Lyrics
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Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Call the pastors army and
Tell them I'll be dead
The birds will eat my body
And swallow down my soul
Maybe then I can fly instead of
Rotting in a hole
Tell my wife I'm sorry
For the gates on me have closed
I Cannot be her angel, no
For my feathers are the crows, so
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Gather neighbors all around
For their bad man will be dead
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Call the pastors army and
Tell them I'll be dead
The birds will eat my body
And swallow down my soul
Maybe then I can fly instead of
Rotting in a hole
Tell my wife I'm sorry
For the gates on me have closed
I Cannot be her angel, no
For my feathers are the crows, so
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Gather neighbours all around
For their bad man will be dead
The dirt will be my bed
Call the pastors army and
Tell them I'll be dead
The birds will eat my body
And swallow down my soul
Maybe then I can fly instead of
Rotting in a hole
Tell my wife I'm sorry
For the gates on me have closed
I Cannot be her angel, no
For my feathers are the crows, so
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Gather neighbors all around
For their bad man will be dead
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Call the pastors army and
Tell them I'll be dead
The birds will eat my body
And swallow down my soul
Maybe then I can fly instead of
Rotting in a hole
Tell my wife I'm sorry
For the gates on me have closed
I Cannot be her angel, no
For my feathers are the crows, so
Leave me out tomorrow
The dirt will be my bed
Gather neighbours all around
For their bad man will be dead
Writer: Dónal Sharpson
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid