Print

Dishes and satellites spreading our looks Sharing us for a profit, or so i've been told His entire sex life was being watched on the net His somehow solitary sex life was being broadcasted as he plays: I count on you, my faithfull ones Following my every stroke I've got nothing to hide I know it's kind of wrong Something liquid flying to the lens Certainly serious but never desperate I know it's sort of wrong to behave like this And when the saints go marching in, he's a devil in disguise Hungry for a thousand kicks, emulating humankind Searching for my every bone, just doing their thing I count on you, the faithfull ones Following my every stroke With nothing to hide, I know it's kind of wrong From Letras Mania