Слушать бесплатно On Any Other Day

Words and music by Stewart Copeland (spoken: The other ones are complete bullshit) (One Sunday morning)(? Should be: You want something corny?) You got it. There's a house on my street And it looks real neat I'm the chap who lives in it There's a tree on the sidewalk There's a car by the door I'll go for a drive in it And when the wombat comes He will find me gone He'll look for a place to sit My wife has burned the scrambled eggs The dog just bit my leg My teenage daughter ran away My fine young son has turned out gay Cut off my fingers in the Door of my car How could I do it? My wife is proud to tell me Of her love affairs How could she do this to me? My wife has burned the scrambled eggs The dog just bit my leg My teenage daughter ran away My fine young son has turned out gay And it would be O.K. on any other day And it would be O.K. on any other day Throw down the morning papers And spill my tea I don't know what's wrong with me The cups and plates are in a Conspiracy I'm covered in misery My wife has burned the scrambled eggs The dog just bit my leg My teenage daughter ran away My fine young son has turned out gay And it would be O.K. on any other day And it would be O.K. on any other day And it would be O.K. on any other day (repeat to fade) The Bed's Too Big Without You/Contact The Bed's Too Big Without You Words and music by Sting Bed's too big without you Cold wind blows right thru' my open door I can't sleep with your memory Dreaming dreams of what used to be When she left I was cold inside That look on my face was just pride No regrets no love no tears Living on my own was the least of my fears Bed's too big without you The bed's too big without you The bed's too big Without you Since that day when you'd gone Just had too (sic) carry on I get thru' day but late at night Made love to my pillow but it didn't feel right Every day, just the same Old rules for the same old game All I gained was heartache All I made was one mistake Now the bed's too big without you The bed's too big without you The bed's too big Without you (Bed's too big without you The bed's too big without you The bed's too big without you Without you Without you) Contact Words and music by Stewart Copeland I've got a lump in my throat about the note you wrote I'd come on over but I haven't got a raincoat Have we got contact You and me? Have we got touchdown Can't we be? I've got contacts in my book and in my eyes My good connection on the telephone never lies Have we got contact You and me? Have we got touchdown Can't we be?