Rain on the brain, now there's flowers in your window. She,
well, she's so strange, I don't know anything about her. But if
it's all the same to you, here's what I'm gonna do, I'm gonna
write a song, gonna sing it to everyone, and then I'll sing it to
you cos it was you that wrote it to. This could be the last train.
Seach within yourself for feelings, everybody's got them. You
left me on the shelf, and now there's no-one to rely on. But if it's
all the same to you, here's what I'm gonna do, I'm gonna buy
a gun, gonna shoot everything, everyone. And then I'm coming
for you, cos it was you that drove me to. This could be the last
train. Woo-woo. Woo-woo. Woo-woo. Woo-woo. Rear window,
with the room in her hair, and on her jacket there's a picture in white of
Che Guevara, as he sits beneath the tree, but that's not
important. But he looked a bit like me. If you took all the little
feelings in your heart, and took all those little feelings apart.
Oh well now what's the point in doing all of that?