| She dumps the contents of her purse
|
| Onto the hightop drummer chair
|
| I could’ve sworn that I had sixty more dollars in there
|
| She said that I would not believe the things she’d read
|
| They’d written there, plain as day
|
| And I might turn to salt for staying too long
|
| Too long
|
| Too long
|
| Too long
|
| Beneath the booklight little songs sing out to me he’s here again
|
| Squints his eyes and counts out ninety nine dollars in tens
|
| Says, «Well, since when can an honest man get high after a day
|
| Of honest work around these choir boys bringing me down»
|
| Me down
|
| Me down
|
| Me down
|
| Into the void, a plea to make it through the night
|
| My kind of man, always right
|
| Dead on deployment, see, your dog went toward the fight
|
| Licking his wounds, the stars in his eyes
|
| Sometimes the good ones leave before you’ve even seen them there at all
|
| Sometimes the good ones stay home waiting on government calls
|
| Sometimes the good ones like you best before you’re hooked on aerosols
|
| Sometimes the good ones aren’t quite good as you had recalled
|
| Recalled
|
| Recalled
|
| Recalled
|
| Come out candlelight
|
| Give me one big bite
|
| It’s all for me
|
| Cough up smoke and ash
|
| Stare down the camera flash
|
| It’s all I see
|
| What I think you know
|
| Somehow you should know
|
| But now it’s free
|
| Into the void, a plea to make it through the night
|
| My kind of man, always right
|
| Dead on deployment, see, your dog went toward the fight
|
| Licking his wounds, the stars in his eyes |