Crédits

INTERPRÉTATION
Will Wood
Will Wood
Claviers
Sofia Session Orchestra & Choir
Sofia Session Orchestra & Choir
Chœur
Mike Bottiglieri
Mike Bottiglieri
Guitare acoustique
Vater Boris
Vater Boris
Guitare basse
Mario Conte
Mario Conte
Batterie
Georgi Elenkov, PhD
Georgi Elenkov, PhD
Direction d’orchestre
COMPOSITION ET PAROLES
Will Wood
Will Wood
Paroles/Composition
PRODUCTION ET INGÉNIERIE
Kevin Antreassian
Kevin Antreassian
Ingénierie de mastérisation
Vladislav Boyadzhiev
Vladislav Boyadzhiev
Ingénierie de prise de son
Simon Ficken
Simon Ficken
Ingénierie de prise de son
Angeliya Vihrova
Angeliya Vihrova
Ingénierie de prise de son
Goerge Strezov
Goerge Strezov
Ingénierie de prise de son
Plamen Penchev
Plamen Penchev
Ingénierie de prise de son
Will Wood
Will Wood
Production

Paroles

My dream girl, those eyes, that nose
My private inside joke, sign the cast on my funny bone
Floral sheets on long-given-up ghosts
Haunt my bedroom at night and say "Let's get you home"
They say "Grow up, be a man, 'cause until then
You're nothing but a short-haired girl"
But come and Braille-palm-read and hold my hand
See my reason and "Goodbye cruel world"
And oh my God, what's wrong with me?
And the wife of Walter Keane, whose name right now's escaping me
That's right, Margaret
Dream girl, come, and sweep me off my knees
I'd rather stay asleep than never see you wake up next to me
Neon lights like heat lamps in the cold
To incubate the shadows you can't stitch back to your soles
And you seemed fine just a few days ago
But CO2 and fish tanks do enough to get you home
Well now you swear in your prayers telling time
"Promise I'll never have fun again
If you'd stop flying," but then you start crying "Never mind, you win"
And far too late came far too soon
And the love you never made became the things you'd never do
Oh, sweet Mary
Dream girl, come, but keep your hands off me
Go on back to bed my love, I mean,
That's where dreams are supposed to be
So come on, William, grow up, be a man
'Cause until then they're gonna treat you
Like you're just a little girl
But come and Braille-palm-read, hold my hands and you'll see that
It's me who cries mercy while your fingers curl
And, oh, are you at all like me?
Do you know what I mean?
Or am I too close to see?
Someone, anyone?
Of the two things we do on our knees
Watch me fold my hands just to crack my knuckles
Well, here is the church, here is the steeple
Open the doors, see all the people
Alright, that's enough, let's get you home
Written by: Will Wood
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