Lost Art Of Murder / The Good Old Days

Roll a four, roll a nine

Find yourself washed up in paradise

Just like before you didn't mind someone else washed up in paradise

Every day

What a nice day for a murder

You call yourself a killer but the only thing you're killing is your time

There's nothing absurder

than a bird that´s a burden to your heart, soul, body, spirit and mind.

Don't look at me like that she won't take you back

Said too much been too unkind

Get up off your back, stop smoking that

Change your life, just might change her mind, her mind.

Roll a four, roll a nine

Find yourself washed up in paradise

All the fours or all the nines

I lost my phone in paradise

Pay as you go

What a nice day for a murder

You call yourself a killer but the only thing you're killing is your time

There's nothing absurder

than a bird that´s a burden to your heart, soul, body, spirit and mind.

Don't look at me like that she won't take you back

Done too much been too unkind

Get up off your back, stop smoking that

Change your life, think it´ll change her mind.

Don't look at me like that she won't take you back

Said too much been too unkind

Get up off your back, stop smoking that

If you change your life

Do you think they´ll change their minds.

If Queen Boadicea is long dead and gone

Still then the spirit

In her children's children's children

It lives on

If you've lost your faith in love and music

Oh the end won't be long

Because if it's gone for you then I too may lose it

And that would be wrong

You know I've tried so hard to keep myself from falling

Back into my bad old ways

And it chars my heart to always hear you calling

Calling for the good old days

Because there were no good old days

These are the good old days

It's not about, tenements and needles

And all the evils in their eyes

And the backs of their minds

Daisy chains and school yard games

And a list of things we said we'd do tomorrow

A list of things we said we'd do tomorrow

The arcadian dream has all fallen through

But the Albion sails on course

So lets man the decks and hoist the rigging

Because the pig mans found the source

And theres twelve rude boys on the oars