He walks the street
head tilded down
looking at his feet,
sticked to his fase a false-positive frown.
If you ask his friends,
if you can find he has some,
what's he like, what's with that sadness crown?
You'll get an answer, oh so sweet:
His just like us, good old regular creep.
He don't care about the current trends,
he don't care when the valentine day comes.
He don't even invest in relationships.
His just like us, a good old regular creep.
He walks his daily lonely walk,
and talks his daily shopping talk:
Buys a pack of beer and a frozen pizza,
get's home, puts on some tones
and lights a smoke then dream he is in ibiza.
Thoughs circulating in his head
of lovers lost and friend who're dead.
Slowly dieing, fastly smiling
saying: "i'm just a good old creep"

Μου αρέσει!