and when our drummer died
we just kept on
split up his cigarettes
and stole lyrics from his songs.

and when the bassists ripped by coat
man, I thought I’d freeze
as the wind raked whispers
from scrawny city trees.

high times, pale days
the Western World in a fadeaway.

the roads from up here
don’t look like roads at all
but more like pencil sketches
some lunatic would draw.

hangovers, rendezvous
with Mascara girls with the mascara blues.


Lyrics submitted by muzack

The States song meanings
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