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Cut through the country, speed through the dark. A child in a train, tristessa departs. It's only the start. . Filigree circles round her young wrist.
Fall of winter, fall of all sundowns. The treachery of the coldness of your smile. Violator, among the trees they hide. Perambulator, fade into the night.
The watchmaker works all day, and long into the night. He pieces things together. Despite his failing sight. Though all the cogs connect with such poetic grace.
Sing for me,. Sing for me.. You can come with me;. You can live with me.. . Heal my soul,. Make me whole.. . Sister, I lost you,. When you were still a child,.
The Holy Drinker and his curse. In constant serfage to unquenchable thirst. . And from his stupor the night gives birth. The devil rises from right out of the earth.
How bout getting off all these antibiotics. How bout stopping eating when I'm full up. How bout changing a line cause it don't make sense. How bout that ever elusive "could of".
Scintilla falling behind. Did you arrive at the place that you came from?. A cultivator of dread. The paranoia took root in your cold heart. . Neurotic up with the dawn.
A fist will make you understand intention. To raise alarm is underhand, so I cut off the phone. I bind you up with tape and catch some TV. It's getting late, the shadows in the street are watching us.
I feel worn out. There's no point drinking. When life slows right down. And holds you up above the water line. So sleep will never come. . One last time then.
In the back of a taxi cab in London town. It's like watching TV with the sound turned down. Cause I can feel it I've got a buzzin' in my head. And I'm on my way.
Here we all are. Born into a struggle. To come so far. But end up returning to dust. . Oxfam panache tips his hat. He has no truck with idle chat. (Work to be done).
That's something that you're laughing at me. And I hope you know what it is that you're laughing about. Cos it won't be long now 'til they're reeling you in.
As the cheerless towns pass my window. I can see a washed out moon through the fog. And then a voice inside my head. Breaks the analogue And says. "Follow me down to the valley below.
Something in this town is draining me. Could be the junk food or the gasoline. I hide it well. . Tangled up in my last cigarette for a hundred years. I'm not as much of a slave to it as I appear.
A light snow is falling on London. All sign of the living has gone. The last train pulls into the stations. And no-one gets off and no-one gets on. . Don't hate me.
Six of one and half a dozen. Black guitars and plastic blues. Hide behind a wall of nothing. Nothing said and nothing new. . Four chords that made a million.
I'm sending you a letter. Because I don't think there's much time. Time to clear the cobwebs. Time to bear the crime. . It's only a number. It's only a death.
If I compiled all my crimes and my lies into amnesty. Would you come back to me?. The smile on my lips is a sign that I don't hear you leaving me. And I don't hear my own soul scream.