Fast Junkie
loðir við mig enn.
Hún er mjúk,
hún er gróf,
lýsir öllu àsenn:
Dúnmjúkum hreyfingum.
BeinhvÃÂtum lærunum.
Hún er heit,
hún er rök,
lamandi og hlý.
Hún er lÃÂf,
hún er sál,
lÃÂður hjá sem ský
Ilmurinn upphafinn
læðist um mÃÂn vit.
Gljáandi lÃÂkaminn
ljómar nýjum lit.
Konur ilma...
Portobello Road
Getting hung up all day on smiles
Walking down portobello road for miles
Greeting strangers in indian boots,
yellow ties and old brown suits
Growing old is my only danger
Cuckoo clocks, and plastic socks
Lampshades of old antique leather
Nothing looks weird, not even a beard
or the boots made out of feathers
I'll keep walking miles til I feel
a broom beneath my feet
or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street
Nothings the same if you see it again
it'll be broken down to litter
Oh, and the clothes
everyone know that that dress will never fit her
Getting hung up all day on smiles
Walking down portobello road for miles
Greeting strangers in indian boots,
yellow ties and old brown suits
Growing old is my only danger
Cuckoo clocks, and plastic socks
Lampshades of old antique leather
Nothing looks weird, not even a beard
or the boots made out of feathers
I'll keep walking miles til I feel
a broom beneath my feet
or the hawking eyes of an old stuffed bull across the street
Nothing's the same if you see it again
It'll be broken down to litter
Oh, and the clothes
everyone know that that dress will never fit her
Getting hung up all day on smiles
Walking down portobello road for miles
Greeting strangers in indian boots,
yellow ties and old brown suits
Growing old is my only danger