Organ Eyes - Poor Tourists

Just another massive trip losing grip
Do yourself a favour, take only the smallest sip

And we cant go back to whatever that was
And 'what's his name,' called

In a fantasy selling seashells by the shore to the poor tourists who came but never left and now they're bored
There's no way home and yet I'll find the words to say
In a number of ways I feel I've gone overboard

Written by:
Cameron Steacy

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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