Paul Young - Wedding day

Woe is me, the press gang came
And forced my love away
Just when we named next morning fair
To be our wedding day

Like a silent explosion ripping into the heart
And the hurt and the anguish do tear you apart
With a swiftness of hand that I cannot condone
And discardance of life that is not of your own

Then a small piece of hear say becomes a big deal
But that is not the issue, the issue is real.
When a turn of the page can turn love into hate
Don't forget that's the power of the fourth estate.

And a tall string of words keep me tied to the chair
Where before I was blistfully unaware
And my skin becomes thicker so I never get hurt
I'm a man without feeling and I wish that I weren't

Though you're long dead and gone there is still no escape
Just forget it, just forget it, you'll never cut all that tape
And once you're a victim, your love will turn to hate
Don't forget that's the power of the fourth estate.

Droits d'auteurs

Auteur: P. Young, I Kewley
Composer: ?
Editeur: CBS Songs Ltd

Plus de détails

Langue: Anglais
Disponible le: Between two fires (1986)