well if it ain't your time to go
|
then you'd better stay put for now
|
cuz everybody's gotta do their time until it's time
|
and if it ain't broken, then break it
|
and say you knew me way back when
|
we're fools, we're fools
|
and all rest were swine waiting to be defiled
|
well I could hang up my shingle
|
out by the side of the road
|
and try to bang a flame out of the cinders you left behind
|
like a driftwood in the night
|
that was washed up by the light
|
of the moon that bleached my bones
|
that sent me to the pile
|
mustard in your smile
|
land a hand on the radio dial
|
and the breezes of the season
|
have blown us back to hell
|
it's a stolen telephone
|
that I dialed blind and alone
|
just to hear the voice of a bargain center soul
|
now the deserts are inflamed
|
and the bandages are the same
|
and the factories, casualties are looking for mangled joes(?)
|
and if it ain't your time to go
|
then you'd better stay put for now
|
cuz anybody gotta put their hand
|
upon the hand of the clock
|
like the minds of misers grinding down their gears to a halt
|
|
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Unknown 2
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Beck |