K. D. Lang. Diet Of Strange Places. Zeneszám

Starving, I've got this hunger
Growling from deep within
Carving internal thunder
Oh, a craving that wears me thin

Well, it's hard to ingest so many faces
I get my fill but still those passersby
Leave me empty on a diet of strange places
It all should enhance my senses tell me why
Does the spice of loneliness seem all but tasteless?
And lays there to haunt me from inside

And leaves me starving, I've got this hunger
Growling from deep within
Carving an internal thunder
Oh, a craving that wears me thin

Many a trap are set and baited
From tension of temptation of the game
But ones who are fed are those who waited
Takes tell me why, leaves it curbed and tame
Only time'll find me home and safely sated
But until that time I'll remain

Starving, I've got this hunger
Growling from deep within
Carving internal thunder
Oh, a craving that wears me thin
Oh, a craving that wears me thin