Lemon gin, corn fields plowed under. Cigarettes, Southern Comfort with your friends behind the bleachers it?s my first dance. He?s gonna beat it in the
Dance, locust, dance. The prophets shrug their shoulders as calamity's child lost her head in the bell of the trumpet's blast. I know you just want
You took hold of my affections With your Bible and your sword Your celebrity connections I was not used to keeping score From your fine guilded chalice
Lamps of kerosene Up in the north country Air is cool, and the lakes are seething The sun sets, I can not describe this feeling I followed you down
Drunk again, 6pm Beautiful, ugly weekend Stayin' out, and sleeping in I love it when my girlfriend calls me a cock sucking faggot Writing rock n' roll
It was in your basement apartment with all of its earth and sea making love on the carpet under the light of the tv outside the sour moon minstrels
You took your brownie hawkeye and pointed it up at the sky you just let the shutter fly all of your friends still wonder why you were never good with
We're all fugitives of American portions Got only sleeves n yesterday's calling card from fresh cut grass out on the interstate where wheels keep on
So this is the day of the dead Of St. Jude and the lady of Guadeloupe Apples and oranges And silver coins for ghosts to gamble with Marigolds and candles
