The sun is comin' up over the hill...
|
Or maybe it's not I can't even tell
|
But there's a warmth on my face
|
That isn't the blood
|
And my tears are turnin'
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The snow into mud
|
|
And I can't feel my left leg
|
But I think it's still there
|
Did I kill anybody?
|
Hell, I never fight fair
|
|
What state am I in?
|
Am I still on the run?
|
Has it really been so long
|
Since I've seen the sun?
|
|
My instincts are telling me
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To pick up and go
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But I can't feel my fingers
|
And I can't move my toes
|
There's a drained bourbon bottle
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Layin' next to my head
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And the piss and the vomit
|
Are the sheets on my bed
|
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Is it you? Could it be you?
|
Don't want it to
|
|
I went out all night drinking
|
So I took the bait
|
And I jumped off the interstate
|
To Highway 8
|
To the bars full of girls
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Who all know me by name
|
They all drink the same drinks
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And they all fuck the same
|
|
Now my eyes are turnin' red
|
In this hotel bar
|
And she's breathing out smoke
|
As she motions towards the door
|
The kindness of a stranger
|
Or a trick of the trade?
|
God knows I'm not the first mistake
|
That she's made
|
|
Is it you? Could it be you?
|
Don't want it to
|
Is it you? Could it be you?
|
Don't want it to
|
|
I been down and out
|
I been spit on for so long
|
I stored my shame in my belly
|
'till I needed to be strong
|
|
In my last guilty whim
|
I stole a map and a truck
|
It's pure chance
|
That I haven't already been picked up
|
But from here on the slate's clean
|
I'm headin' way south
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Always heard the girls were pretty there
|
I got to find out!
|
Look Ma your son's a travelin' man!
|
I don't know what I did
|
But I'll do all the good that I can....
|
|
Could it be you?
|
Could it be you?
|
Could it be you?
|
Could it be you?
|
Could it be you?
|
|
-----------------
|
Spring Break 1899
|
Murder By Death |