Some changes to the above lyrics, as I hear 'em. You be the judge.
The son went down and spoke with the last lips...
They spoke of hell and things they knew they'd never miss
Bridge shelter 'round the cold creek bed
Breaks backs and leads eyes down
Faces drag against the dirt and ears shiver in this muddy sound
Where the white waves roll just once a year
Arms feed the hatchet with an African appetite
Matched machetes, sparkle shine
Shape the small-scale guillotine
I've been getting pretty sleeping in these boxes
The blackened mule faces outside my door
Shouting, shouting (x2)
Oooohhh
The club met the seal and the seal met the dog
It carried the man to the end of the trail
Where they, walked down the street
Pavement black beneath their feet
I've had a little trouble with these black glass lungs
I'm dealing with the man with the gold tooth grin
I've been getting pretty sleeping in these boxes
The blackened mule faces outside my door
Shouting, shouting (x2)
Oooohhh
I've been getting pretty sleeping in these boxes
The blackened mule faces outside my door
Shouting, shouting (x2)
Oooohhh
On a literal sense, BlackGhost might have it, but Sk8terpunk seems to get the metaphor behind it all.
Some changes to the above lyrics, as I hear 'em. You be the judge.
The son went down and spoke with the last lips... They spoke of hell and things they knew they'd never miss Bridge shelter 'round the cold creek bed Breaks backs and leads eyes down Faces drag against the dirt and ears shiver in this muddy sound Where the white waves roll just once a year Arms feed the hatchet with an African appetite Matched machetes, sparkle shine Shape the small-scale guillotine
I've been getting pretty sleeping in these boxes The blackened mule faces outside my door Shouting, shouting (x2)
Oooohhh
The club met the seal and the seal met the dog It carried the man to the end of the trail Where they, walked down the street Pavement black beneath their feet I've had a little trouble with these black glass lungs I'm dealing with the man with the gold tooth grin
I've been getting pretty sleeping in these boxes The blackened mule faces outside my door Shouting, shouting (x2)
Oooohhh
I've been getting pretty sleeping in these boxes The blackened mule faces outside my door Shouting, shouting (x2)
Oooohhh
On a literal sense, BlackGhost might have it, but Sk8terpunk seems to get the metaphor behind it all.