| Lists of swinging fists nobody saw
|
| That were slicing through air at the foot of a stair of a bar
|
| Make beds of busted heads pillowed and puffed
|
| In some quiet corner of the emergency ward they left us
|
| So we always demurred with an ill-advised word from some enemy’s ill-equipt
|
| tongue
|
| Sizzled and burned at our backs so we learned to dodge
|
| Guess we lost
|
| Staring down the cliffs with my crew-cut
|
| I had turned twenty-three and believed I was dangerous
|
| Lists of swinging hips down in the clubs
|
| They were holding a swerve, I am perfectly sure, for us
|
| And a photograph says what a photograph is, holy shit were our faces so young
|
| All pissed and thin-lipped as you tippled and tripped, it was fun
|
| Guess we’re done
|
| Lies and flying flies supping up blood
|
| We fall down, slidding down, slipping, slamming the ground 'cause we’re fucked
|
| And so I went down to the mystic,
|
| All headached and heartsick, and lying with the beggars and bums
|
| Paid his price and he slurred,
|
| «My advice is to turn and to run.»
|
| Well I guess we’re dumb
|
| So let’s just gather 'round partygoers, that’s if you’re still living
|
| And I wasted, washed up, watered down, and not dead, and death wishing
|
| And those trumpets won’t blow, the professional driver got lost
|
| And all of those rulers and priests, from the highest to least, have been lined
|
| up and shot
|
| How I pray and I hope 'till it leads to some moment where all of it just blew
|
| apart
|
| How I wished and I scheemed, and from whisper to scream,
|
| How I wanted to just hold your heart
|
| In the palm of my hand and just watch as it slows, and it,
|
| Stops
|
| Call the cops
|
| It was star-crossed, we’d gone numb
|
| Wasn’t the last fun?
|
| Well I guess we lost
|
| I guess we’re done |