Lissie - Everywhere I Go Lyrics

Lissie - Everywhere I Go Lyrics

And i fall on my knees
Tell me how's the way to be
Tell me how's the way to go
Tell me all that i should know

And i fall on my knees
Tell me how's the way to go
Tell me how's the way to be
To evoke some empathy

Danger will follow me now
Everywhere i go
Angels will call on me
And take me to my home
Well this tired mind
Just wants to be lead home

And i fall on my knees
Tell me how's the way to go
Tell me how's the way to see
Show me all that i could be

And i fall on my knees
Tell me how's the way to be yeah
Tell me how's the way to go
Tell me why i feel so low

Angels will follow me now
Everywhere i go
Angels will call on me
And take me to my home
Well these tired eyes
Just want to remain closed

I don't see clearly can't feel nothing no
Can't you hear me?

And i fall on my knees
And angels will call on me
Now everywhere i go
Angels will call on me
And take me to my home

And angel will fall on me
Everywhere i walk
Angels will call on me
And take me to my home
[Lissie - Everywhere I Go Lyrics on http://lyricslike.blogspot.com]

And angels will call on me
Now everywhere i go
Angels will follow me
Now lead me to my home

pursuit of happiness...

So, I don't really understand what's going on in the Ashes. I don't really understand cricket. I think you may be disappointed if you thought I was going to comment on bowling technique and wickets and suchlike things. One good thing about this quite dull competition, however is that some cricketers are quite pretty.

Firstly (and most importantly) is young Mr Alastair Cook. He has a nice face, and as far as I can tell is pretty damn good. This is his face. Mmhmm, yes.




Then there's Stuart Broad. Injured, but still hot. In my mind, he is the Draco Malfoy of cricket. They look quite similar, no?


I don't think we need another example (mostly because that would involve looking up more cricketers and frankly, who can be arsed?).

I'm back home now, and missing campus life dreadfully. I also miss the oddballs of flat 33, amongst whom I never lose my temper or raise my voice. I miss my highly uncomfortable bed and stash of seasonal alcohol. I miss watching grainy Jonathan Creek on Youtube with my flatmates before staying up in the oppressively small corridors all night pretending to be appalled while the boys talk about poo.

Home sucks. Home really, really sucks. In the past hour, the words "Stop that fucking coughing" and "What the fuck have you bastards done with the paracetamol" have been screamed by my mum who is in a particularly pleasant mood. I'm not sleeping either because of this "fucking cough", so I'm in a bit of a grump.

No matter, have some pretty music:

Goodnight everyone, may you sleep well and dream sweet dreams. Of Cricketers...