Instrumenty
Ensembles
Opera
Kompozytorzy
Wykonawcy

Teksty: Pixie Lott. Turn It Up. Nothing Compares.

Walking down Brick Lane, feel the blue.
Winds blowing lightly and I picture you.
Sweet Sunday morning, with nothing to do.
Love is like a dream, when it's just me and you.

Open my window, sing me a song.
Baby can't you see that this is where I belong
With your hand in my hand, still feel feel the love
Really wish that we could go back to the way that it was.

They say if it doesn't kill you it'll make you stronger.
Oh, but I can't be without you any longer.
Everytime I let it go, baby it's you.
Nothing compares to you.
Nothing compares to you.

Sweet sunday morning, all by myself.
Hard love what we've done, when with anyone else.
Watch my mascara dripping down.
Baby how did we end up like this? Where are you now?


They say if it doesn't kill you it'll make you stronger.
Oh, but I can't be without you any longer.
Everytime I let it go, baby it's you.
Nothing compares to you.
Nothing compares to you.

I'm running fast, as fast as I can, to get you back, just to get you back again.
I can not wait, I can not wait, if we can be, we can be us again.
I cry at night, cry at night, I'll cry for all the words, all the words I didn't say.
Sweet Sundays, sweet Sundays.

They say if it doesn't kill you it'll make you stronger.
Oh, but I can't be without you any longer.
Everytime I let it go, baby it's you.
Nothing compares to you.
Nothing compares to you.

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