| Can I tell you something?
|
| Can I tell you a story?
|
| It’s about me and Billy
|
| Because I remember
|
| I remember it all started when he bought that car
|
| It was the first thing he’d ever owned apart from me
|
| And the color was red
|
| And the color was red and he drove me
|
| He drove me out of my mind
|
| I’m over it now
|
| It was spring or summer sixty five I don’t remember
|
| Steaming and sweating and sticking against the wheel
|
| And I could see the tendons stand out in the back of his neck
|
| And he used to make me pray, wearing a mask like a death’s head
|
| When he put me there in the back seat, and he said
|
| Inherited his father’s hate that what he’d say
|
| And he custom of destruct the pain of every escape but somehow
|
| He could make joy come loose inside
|
| I would feel really I would feel really and truly alive
|
| And I would do anything for him
|
| It just wasn’t enough
|
| It was never enough
|
| He’d turn to me and say
|
| He’d, he’d say «even the son of god had to die, my darling»
|
| And he wanted everything
|
| He wanted everything
|
| He wanted the honey from the king
|
| Each new moon
|
| He used to make me pray
|
| Every morning
|
| Hidden in the backseat, such Jesus
|
| He’d make me pray
|
| And he’d in there when he wanted everything
|
| He wanted the honey from the king
|
| Say it
|
| «Even the son of god had to die my darling»
|
| Go on, say it! |