Nhạc sĩ: Imelda May, Tim Bran, Davide Rossi
Lời đăng bởi: 86_15635588878_1671185229650
Who will throw me roses at the final curtain call? Who will clap and stamp and chant in an empty musical hall? I've lived every word I write, and acted up under overlights. But when you go home, arm in arm, I go back to an empty room. No afterglow after the aftershow. The sacrifice for art, I suppose. It imitates life, you see. Limitates privacy. I try to give all of me, but hate the cold reality that lets me live out on the stage my fantasy. And what I really crave is not like from some, but love from one. So who will throw me roses? Who will throw me roses? Who will throw me roses?
