Слова песни - The Killers - Losing Touch - текст песни
Console me in my darkest hour Convince me that the truth is always grey Caress me in your velvet chair Conceal me from the ghosts you cast away
I'm in no hurry You go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch. Fill their heads with rumors of impending doom It must be true.
Console me in my darkest hour And tell me that you always hear my cries I wonder what you've got conspired I'm sure it dawns a consolation prize
I'm in no hurry You go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch. Fill the night with stories, the legend grows Of how you got lost But you made your way back home You sold your soul Like a Roman vagabond, yeah
I heard you from the wishing well in the city Console me in my darkest hour Then you throw me down
I'm in no hurry You go run and tell your friends I'm losing touch Fill your crown with rumors Impending doom, it must be true
But you made your way back home You sold your soul like a Roman vagabond And about how you got lost, But you made your way back home And the legions stand alone
