What are the 39 steps? Who is the mother of tears?
Why did the bat cross the moon?
New Rochelle is full of new romantics
on the wrong side of the Atlantic.
Enemies long for each other.
The only other ones who know the whole story-or even care.
I'm the only one who understands your motives,
your secrets, your real name.
And hell is full of faithless hearts,
let mine not be counted among them.
I will spit on your grave when the winter comes.
But at your grave I shall be.
The apple was Eve.
Are these the 39 steps? And who kissed the mother of tears?
When will the bat cross the moon?
Enemies learn from each other.
Some other side to some other story, to care.
Some way to justify their motives, their actions, somnicidal obsessions,
your secret real fake name.
And hell is full of faithless hearts,
let mine not be counted among them.
I will spit on your grave when the winter comes.
But at your grave I shall be.
The apple was Eve.
Were those the 39 steps? Was she the mother of tears?
Did that bat cross the moon?
Is New Rochelle still full of new romantics
on the wrong side of the Atlantic?
Is hell still full of faithless hearts?
Is mine now counted among them?
I will sit at your grave when the winter comes.
At your grave I shall be.
The apple was Eve.
Why did the bat cross the moon?
New Rochelle is full of new romantics
on the wrong side of the Atlantic.
Enemies long for each other.
The only other ones who know the whole story-or even care.
I'm the only one who understands your motives,
your secrets, your real name.
And hell is full of faithless hearts,
let mine not be counted among them.
I will spit on your grave when the winter comes.
But at your grave I shall be.
The apple was Eve.
Are these the 39 steps? And who kissed the mother of tears?
When will the bat cross the moon?
Enemies learn from each other.
Some other side to some other story, to care.
Some way to justify their motives, their actions, somnicidal obsessions,
your secret real fake name.
And hell is full of faithless hearts,
let mine not be counted among them.
I will spit on your grave when the winter comes.
But at your grave I shall be.
The apple was Eve.
Were those the 39 steps? Was she the mother of tears?
Did that bat cross the moon?
Is New Rochelle still full of new romantics
on the wrong side of the Atlantic?
Is hell still full of faithless hearts?
Is mine now counted among them?
I will sit at your grave when the winter comes.
At your grave I shall be.
The apple was Eve.