Nuno Bettencourt – The Temp

She’s my baby. She is a Raygun

Kissing my spaceship. Kill me for fun fun

She is my sunshine. My only sunshine

Painting my bluesky. Yellow with jaundice.

She’s temp, she’s temp

She got a special place for you

She’s temp, She’s temp

Underneath her favorite pair of shoes

Suicides are fed, modern love rises like bread

Playing catch with living skulls

Hurry up, somebody’s dead, we’re still alive

She my baby, she got the big gulp

Devour my soul food over and over

Trouble breathing, my world is strangling

Lovely gorilla, she strictly hands on

She’s temp, She’s temp

She’s into nucleo and nucliete

She’s temp, She’s temp

She makes me feel like I’m hovering

580 meters over Hiroshima

Just a piece of sun

On your skin I burn a home

Lying lotion soothes the pain

Peel me off before I fall

She’s to blame, she seems a bit insane

She likes it when it rains all day long

Happiness is knockin’, but she cries

Then turning out the light she runs at night