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As I climb onto your back, I will promise not to sting
I will tell you what you want to hear and not mean anything
Then I treat you like a dog, as I shoot my venom in
You pretend you didn't know, that I am a scorpion
Make my way back home when I learn to...
...fly along with me, I can't quite make it alone
Dios Didi, I'm disappointed.
"In 1968, I was driving from Los Angeles to San Francisco in a Shelby Cobra with three gorgeous young birds. Suddenly, the radio program was interrupted to report that I'd just been found in my hotel room dead from an overdose."