I’d Rather Be High – David BowieBy Nabokov is sun-licked nowUpon the beach at GrunewaldBrilliant and naked justThe way that authors lookClare and Lady Manners drinkUntil the other cows go homeGossip ’til their lips are bleedingPolitics and allI’d rather be highI’d rather be flyingI’d rather be deadOr out of my headThan training these guns on those men in the sandI’d rather be highThe Thames was black, the tower darkI flew to Cairo, find my regimentCity’s full of generalsAnd generals full of shitI stumble to the graveyardAnd I lay down by my parentsWhisper, “Just remember duckiesEverybody gets got.”I’d rather be highI’d rather be flyingI’d rather be deadOr out of my headThan training these guns on those men in the sandI’d rather be highI’m seventeen my looks can prove itI’m so afraid that I will lose itI’d rather smoke and phone my exBe pleading for some teenage sexYeahI’d rather be highI’d rather be flyingI’d rather be deadOr out of my headThan training these guns on the men in the sandI’d rather be highI’d rather be flyingI’d rather be highI’d rather be flyingI’d rather be flyingI’d rather be highI’d rather be flying www.pillowlyrics.com419786497975 88k 20