| She had just busted out of the whorehouse
|
| And was looking for a drink to celebrate the divorce
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| She told 'em she was going out for smokes -- and never looked back
|
| The sky was bloodshot as she stumbled into the bar
|
| Sullen eyes lit up like cigarettes
|
| Cockroaches were gasping for breath
|
| She selects her poison, brings it to her lips
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| A song like drunken sailors from a sunken ship
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| She thinks, power comes to them that enjoy the thrill of fear
|
| A sign says: If you’re looking for answers, you won’t find them here
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| Everyone is leaving, all the widows grieving
|
| Hear the siren laughing, and the truck brakes groaning
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| While the subway’s screaming, all the junkies dreaming
|
| Now the shadow’s falling, is that your lover calling?
|
| She grinds out cigarette in a souvenir ashtray
|
| Reaches for the bottle but ther’s nothing left
|
| Says: Buy me a drink and I’ll tell you a story
|
| But the bitch at the bar wouldn’t sell you a smile
|
| She closes her eyes and thinks of a wish she once had
|
| A dwindling spark of memory
|
| She wants to wipe it clean -- scrape away the debris
|
| Can I get you something? |
| — it's a man in the periphery
|
| The car keys in his hand
|
| She searches her pockets for a match or a reason
|
| He slams the money on the bar
|
| They go out to his car
|
| When you put your hand in your pocket
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| Looking for a match or something to say
|
| Life seems like a rerun
|
| Everything coming up cliches
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| Suicide comes on like a friend
|
| Seems like the bad times never end
|
| Close your eyes and think of home
|
| Movements are slow and tragic
|
| Solar flares from a dying sun
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| Science without the magic
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| Children shouldn’t play with guns
|
| Flashes of pain are fading fast
|
| Echoes from each subsonic blast
|
| Close your eyes and think of home… |