| We got road, we got time, so we’re out of here
|
| We got rows, we got rows as far as we see
|
| In the dust we can see your catastrophe
|
| Shining dimly like a mudslick in the sun
|
| Sparks fly from their eyes
|
| Birds fly from their mouths
|
| Echoing off this procession is a sound
|
| Never to be found
|
| With a tip of the hat we would exit here
|
| Off you go with a pie on your face
|
| Down the road we can see the electric chair
|
| Who’ll be first? |
| I don’t know, it’s a race
|
| Sparks fly from their eyes
|
| Birds fly from their mouths
|
| Echoing off this procession is a sound
|
| Never to be found
|
| With a drop of the fly we should exit here
|
| Off you go with the crumbs on your face
|
| One-eyed clown in the road with electric hair
|
| At his best he’s a total disgrace
|
| Sparks fly from their eyes
|
| Birds fly from their mouths
|
| Echoing off this procession is a sound
|
| Never to be found |