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Foreign Fields
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Correct Me
Saturday night, I'm still running wild
Still cleaning my wounds like an unloved child
In the end, I don't wanna die
I wasn't made for this life
Saturday night, I 'm a broken bird
These terrible songs that I know you heard
In the end, I don't wanna fly
I wasn't made for the sky
All these years, oh, they're passing me by
Now I'm all out of time
I'll let gravity do what it does and correct me
Since that day that I tore off my wings
And I learned how to dive
I'll let gravity do what it does and correct me
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All these years, oh, they're passing me by
Now I'm all out of time
I'll let gravity do what it does and correct me
Since that day that I tore off my wings
And I learned how to dive
I'll let gravity do what it does and correct me
Oh no...
I think I'm dying here! Dying here!
I'm dying
Dying...
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