| Thin skin gets you nothing but love sore
|
| You can wipe yourself clean
|
| But you’ll mess up like before
|
| Strut in my direction and let me
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| Slip into your clothes
|
| And I saw as she undressed
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| Tattooed on her breast
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| A black willow
|
| I took her number from the back of a newspaper
|
| Next to the obituaries
|
| I knew that I might need it later
|
| The wicked rain poured hard upon the lane
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| Where no roses only thorns grow
|
| Said won’t you wring the tears out
|
| Of my coat black willow
|
| She said «Taste the poison but don’t finish your drink yet»
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| She tied me up then she went out for cigarettes
|
| Why must we suffer for love
|
| Why must we love to suffer
|
| Maybe friction makes the flame
|
| It’s why we die to tame each other
|
| Cheap talkers don’t make the phone ring
|
| And heavy sleepers don’t break the bed springs
|
| Interventions of the flesh where our bodies depress
|
| As she crawled into the window
|
| For the curtains they were drawn
|
| In the morning she was gone black willow
|
| And so the story goes
|
| Until the bitter end
|
| Two shots of bourbon and I’m back on the road again
|
| Where does the man begin
|
| Where does the animal end
|
| Will I ever know
|
| I think about it everyday
|
| And I try to get away black willow |