We're in a road movie to berlin. can't drive out the way we drove in. so sneak out this glass of bourbon. and we'll go. We were once so close to heaven.
In a world we call our home, there's lots of room to roam. Plenty of time to turn mistakes into rhyme. There's a place for those who love their poetry.
I got rid of my jackets and coats. I threw out all of my pants. I got sick of my stinkin' clothes. I had to get rid of them. . I'm not yet considering replacing them.
Each night I lie awake, completely alone. A voice is speaking. And I tremble, for it's not my own. My own. I can't ignore it, although I try. The intrusive whisper fascinates me.
Moths beat on the windowpane. Telling me I'm not the same. Sounds of nothing, sounds of fear. Speak to me when no one's near. . I'm on Rat Patrol. I'm on Rat Patrol.
(Lord, please don't take me away.). . Rabid child stays at home, talks on a CB. Truckers pass calling out their handles to the kid. Chess Piece Face and The Big Duluth call her every day.