Used car blues, it's no time to joke around.
The only solution I can think of so far
Is to smash out the windows with a crowbar.
And as the headlights shatter into stars one by one,
I curse the at the road and try to knock out the sun.
I kick in the corner panels, son of a whore.
The paint starts to chip off as I rip off one of the doors.
Same hotel room again with the right mixture
Of terrible smells and dead flies in the light fixture
I listen to the oldies station, half asleep and kind of smokey
Girl in the next room is howling like a coyote.
Hand in my pants, feeling like a phyllistine
All eyes empty, every door way a guillotine.
I'm drunk on lonliness, out of shape and half eaten
The phone don't work and god's in a staff meeting.
Out of breath at the end of a long summer.
Waiting for a phone call that isn't a wrong number.
A smile from a pretty girl, feet don't fail me.
I sleep like a baby and get out of jail free
I spit my teeth in my hand and read the classifieds.
Poke holes in my memories until I'm satisfied.
I'm drawn to familiar environments and dangers.
I look at my photo albums and all I see are strangers.
Lyrics submitted by exact
"Sore" as written by Graeme Ross Campbell Charles Wishart Austin
Lyrics © Peermusic Publishing
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