a white ghost
|
making his way up the west coast
|
trying to focus his high hopes
|
on a vagina or two
|
he's taking his chances
|
|
meanwhile
|
back in his living room
|
bright smiles
|
are watching his toddler run
|
speed trials
|
over his grandmothers rug
|
and nature advances
|
|
up the interstate
|
he's been awake
|
and pretty drunk for three whole days
|
no one wants to stop
|
until they get to where they're going
|
|
i'll get to where i'm going
|
pretty soon
|
|
so he takes another drink
|
cause watching the scenery bleed
|
into each similar scene
|
it isn't as sweet
|
as it had been in his dreams
|
|
it's faster
|
to buy cigarettes and some cold beer
|
if you don't rattle the cashier
|
by asking her back to your room
|
|
she's calling security
|
|
a cars on fire in the parking lot
|
and nobody wants it to rain
|
but god isn't listening
|
so all the windshields glisten
|
|
the water and oil mix
|
causing the fire to spread
|
to five or six
|
innocent automobiles
|
sitting in the nearby spots
|
|
oh what a cruel god we've got
|
|
Ride on (10x)
|
|
so he takes another drink
|
cause watching the scenery bleed
|
into each similar scene
|
it isn't as sweet
|
as it had been in his dreams
|
|
-----------------
|
The Devil Is Beating His Wife
|
| Pedro The Lion |
