| Song | Old Rock |
| Artist | Natalie Duncan |
| Album | Devil In Me |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| There's a grey transparence in this city, | |
| when it's slightly misty | |
| And no one can run, | |
| 'cause they spent all of | |
| their money on alcohol ‘n junk. | |
| Like you did, little man sat in the corner, | |
| waiting for an epiphany of some sort, | |
| As you spit and babble it all away to Jesus, | |
| or some other spirit floating in your smoke. | |
| You know you're gonna die pretty soon now, | |
| but you keep on smiling at your thoughts | |
| And your leftover loose pennies | |
| that you can just about clutch in those dirty, | |
| curled up claws still carefully counted, | |
| they only amount to three more sips of ale | |
| before I saw water well up in your eyes, | |
| you told the same story to me. | |
| And I think you may be the reason | |
| for me to recreate my soul. | |
| Say goodbye each time you leave. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too. | |
| But you've got fifty years on me. | |
| But I don't know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. | |
| It was all so much better back in your day, | |
| it was all so romantic back where you lived. | |
| In the bedsit you grew marijuana | |
| and took pride in your record player. | |
| I sit dreaming of you as a young man, | |
| before the smoke and liquor turned you grey, | |
| before you all looked exactly the same to me, | |
| I see myself looking through a dusty mirror at me | |
| after my babies, after my husbands, | |
| after I lose my loved ones. | |
| When I grow into a different person, | |
| yes I'm gonna write every single one of your words, | |
| I'll write every single one of your words, | |
| I'll write every single one of your words. | |
| I'll write. I'll write... | |
| Oh that I, I think there be a reason for me to recreate my soul. | |
| Say goodbye each time you leave. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too, | |
| but you've got fifty years on me. | |
| But I don't know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too, | |
| but you've got fifty years on me. | |
| I don't know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. |
| There' s a grey transparence in this city, | |
| when it' s slightly misty | |
| And no one can run, | |
| ' cause they spent all of | |
| their money on alcohol ' n junk. | |
| Like you did, little man sat in the corner, | |
| waiting for an epiphany of some sort, | |
| As you spit and babble it all away to Jesus, | |
| or some other spirit floating in your smoke. | |
| You know you' re gonna die pretty soon now, | |
| but you keep on smiling at your thoughts | |
| And your leftover loose pennies | |
| that you can just about clutch in those dirty, | |
| curled up claws still carefully counted, | |
| they only amount to three more sips of ale | |
| before I saw water well up in your eyes, | |
| you told the same story to me. | |
| And I think you may be the reason | |
| for me to recreate my soul. | |
| Say goodbye each time you leave. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too. | |
| But you' ve got fifty years on me. | |
| But I don' t know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. | |
| It was all so much better back in your day, | |
| it was all so romantic back where you lived. | |
| In the bedsit you grew marijuana | |
| and took pride in your record player. | |
| I sit dreaming of you as a young man, | |
| before the smoke and liquor turned you grey, | |
| before you all looked exactly the same to me, | |
| I see myself looking through a dusty mirror at me | |
| after my babies, after my husbands, | |
| after I lose my loved ones. | |
| When I grow into a different person, | |
| yes I' m gonna write every single one of your words, | |
| I' ll write every single one of your words, | |
| I' ll write every single one of your words. | |
| I' ll write. I' ll write... | |
| Oh that I, I think there be a reason for me to recreate my soul. | |
| Say goodbye each time you leave. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too, | |
| but you' ve got fifty years on me. | |
| But I don' t know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too, | |
| but you' ve got fifty years on me. | |
| I don' t know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. |
| There' s a grey transparence in this city, | |
| when it' s slightly misty | |
| And no one can run, | |
| ' cause they spent all of | |
| their money on alcohol ' n junk. | |
| Like you did, little man sat in the corner, | |
| waiting for an epiphany of some sort, | |
| As you spit and babble it all away to Jesus, | |
| or some other spirit floating in your smoke. | |
| You know you' re gonna die pretty soon now, | |
| but you keep on smiling at your thoughts | |
| And your leftover loose pennies | |
| that you can just about clutch in those dirty, | |
| curled up claws still carefully counted, | |
| they only amount to three more sips of ale | |
| before I saw water well up in your eyes, | |
| you told the same story to me. | |
| And I think you may be the reason | |
| for me to recreate my soul. | |
| Say goodbye each time you leave. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too. | |
| But you' ve got fifty years on me. | |
| But I don' t know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. | |
| It was all so much better back in your day, | |
| it was all so romantic back where you lived. | |
| In the bedsit you grew marijuana | |
| and took pride in your record player. | |
| I sit dreaming of you as a young man, | |
| before the smoke and liquor turned you grey, | |
| before you all looked exactly the same to me, | |
| I see myself looking through a dusty mirror at me | |
| after my babies, after my husbands, | |
| after I lose my loved ones. | |
| When I grow into a different person, | |
| yes I' m gonna write every single one of your words, | |
| I' ll write every single one of your words, | |
| I' ll write every single one of your words. | |
| I' ll write. I' ll write... | |
| Oh that I, I think there be a reason for me to recreate my soul. | |
| Say goodbye each time you leave. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too, | |
| but you' ve got fifty years on me. | |
| But I don' t know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. | |
| Old Rock, they call me crazy too, | |
| but you' ve got fifty years on me. | |
| I don' t know what it is to | |
| become more than to be sitting | |
| right there by, that empty glass | |
| you have left me. |