The barrio starts two streets over. Miguel, he's a friend of mine. With brick weed, built a reputation. Like dry ice in the summertime. . Now all you need's an electric razor.
Potential, well you're a loaded line. The veil between the world and the faceless bride. There's nothing yet but a bunch of white. Potential, well you're a loaded line.
Hair blowing in the hot wind. Time hanging from a clothes pin. There's no sorrow that the sun's not gonna help. . Smell the leather of your new car. Drive through the desert after night fall.
See the soul singer in the session band. Shredded to ribbons beneath a microphone stand. Felt the quickness of pity like a flash in a pan. For the soul singer in the session band.