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Pretty Girls Make Graves
|THE SMITHS Song|
|Name||Pretty Girls Make Graves|
Upon the sand, upon the bay "There is a quick and easy way" you say Before you illustrate I'd rather state:
I'm not the man you think I am I'm not the man you think I am
And sorrow's native son He will not smile for anyone And pretty girls make graves
End of the pier, end of the bay You tug my arm, and say: "give in to lust Give up to lust, oh heaven knows we'll Soon be dust"
Oh, I'm not the man you think I am I'm not the man you think I am
And sorrow's native son He will not rise for anyone And pretty girls make graves
(Oh, really?) I could have been wild and I could have been free But Nature played this trick on me
She wants it now And she will not wait But she's too rough And I'm too delicate
Then, on the sand Another man, he takes her hand A smile lights up her stupid face (And well, it would)
I lost my faith in womanhood I lost my faith in womanhood I lost my faith
Hand in glove The sun shines out of our behinds