| She’s a cock eyed queen but she’s not too proud to beg
|
| Cold as the heart of Winnipeg
|
| When I said I dug your sounds I lied
|
| The scene has died
|
| The erosion started when the ranger walked away
|
| That brought upon the lexicon that shattered all our faith
|
| An accent faux, disturbed you know, a genuine swampy drawl
|
| The noise compels and sewer smells of fiction to beat all
|
| She’s a cock eyed queen but she’s not too proud to beg
|
| Cold as the heart of Winnipeg
|
| When I said I dug your sounds I lied
|
| The scene has died
|
| The red river rises as though we’ve struck a vein
|
| The prairie mug and the metis blood are all one and the same
|
| I’ve heard tell the infidel has never seen the south
|
| I got it from the mayor himself straight from the horse’s mouth
|
| Corpses of mosquitoes line the window sills
|
| Swaying lines of swallows are swallowing their fill
|
| The martens and the jays are all fair game upon the field
|
| Illusion snakes while the ghost mistakes down on her own shield
|
| She’s a cock eyed queen but she’s not too proud to beg
|
| Cold as the heart of Winnipeg
|
| When I said I dug your sounds I lied
|
| The scene has died
|
| The Winnipeg scene has died |