Take a breath, take it deep "Calm yourself," he says to me If you play, you play for keeps Take the gun, and count to three I'm sweating now, moving slow
Well, beggars can't be choosers. But winners can be losers. Now you're all dressed up. With nowhere to go. Just let the good times roll. As the night
I know you raped me And rocked my soul and life You screwed my brain And offered me a line You set my heart on fire To make me stick like glue You know
It's Russian roulette with no luck You can kiss it goodbye There's no such thing as sympathy When the disease is entering At first glance your instinct
Modern architecture already left to decay You don't know what you're breathing in What it is, I couldn't say We'll meet in Russian Literature, fourth
(b. walker, j. harte, d. child) Too many temptations too good not to taste. I keep tempting my fate again and again. This world's full of pleasure. I
Something isn't right, something's got you down You feel mechanical, a lost soul in the crowd You're one of us so none of us are going to listen to
I'm on a helicopter ride through Vietnam I'm the Leicester Square kid, I'm superman I'm putting on weight for the Oscar Man gonna get through anyway
Hey, boy, pushin' on your girlfriend Trying to show her all the pain you feel Yeah, and your head's all scrambled 'cause the love is gone And you don'
It's a roussian roulette it's a game and you are playing with fire so don't be crazy be at peace of mind when you go with the one you desire your life
Ritchie was an old friend of mine He took lots of pills to pass the time Used to be filled with political conviction He started to struggle with heroin
Back street dive down in New Orleans gambler shows his face The place was full of jacks and queens but I never came up with that bread-winning ace
(She lives like russian roulette. Barrel up to the head. Where every sweet young move is belonging to a sickness.) Now enter special things to detour
I bring myself down By making the things up I imagine you gone, Russian roulette Like dancing with death, I carry on I'll take the blame I know I've
They rush him into somewhere He's dancing in his chains And the traitor's melancholy Feeling out of place And he will have to dig For miles underground
[MOLOKOV] The man is utterly mad -- you're playing a lunatic -- [THE RUSSIAN] That's the problem. He's a brilliant lunatic and you can't tell which