Oh! Zola

Oh! Zola, Oh! Zola, oh Emile

Black is the thought, is the colour
Is the word as you drop the action
Description, description, cleared
Scene set for destruction
I really understood that book
About Therese Raquin
They were all prudes
With their little Victorian boots

Oh, chicory, chickadoo, c-cinamon
Floating over my head
Oh, chicory, chickadoo, c-cinamon
Floating over my brow

Oh
With cream under my fingernails
And grime in my mind
Oh! Zola, Oh! Zola, Oh! Zola, oh Emile

Someone's been stabbed to death
And the drain gurgles up the blood
But no one really cares about the body
Just so long as it don't block the alley
Terrible catastrophe, scandalous
Laurent says we're both in a horrible mess
Ending then, it opens up
With fake champagne and flesh

Oh, chicory, chickadoo, c-cinamon
Floating over my head
Oh, chicory, chickadoo, c-cinamon
Floating over my brow

Oh! Zola, Oh! Zola, Oh! Zola, oh Emile

Oh... With cream
With sap on our lips

Oh! Zola



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