Lover of things, won't you agree how the winter could bring the darkest spring? With hell on your face, dirt on the walls in the back of the place, you
A bitter birthday. I can't shake. It seems that lately, there's no break. I'm pleading. Why can't I see? It seems that lately, I curse me. A bitter
Any other pales, she was the best type of jail. The rarest gem to find, yet she was the worst of her kind. There's nowhere to hide, memories are there
Now we've got concrete. A place those blacks won't be. If we come they'll know. They should flee, They should go. Here comes a white shadow. Blues
Bailey's her name and there's a price she takes. Blurring lines while she ruthlessly raised the stakes. And there's a mess that she made. We kiss on the
They move, they touch. Perhaps too much. They love to sing, only to be seen. They are cross 'cause they are clean. They are grave 'cause they are green
Viscious are the mouthes she tastes. Wicked are the vowes she breaks. Leaving all her luck to haste. Leaving all her luck to waste. All these things
It's noon in the belly of June. Let's wager with bodies, the night's coming soon. Come like a lover to me, let's lay in the dark and meet the birds and
Boys, they've got wicked things on their minds. Before the father said you're toein' the line. Like a finch on Saturday, sin with wings. Give your
Stalling, stalling, the hardwood of pews is calling. We want this news. Lovely ladies make pretty babies, it's true. That woman's not you. Take
Father your failures are so grave, they have seeped to son. No amount of wishing, for grace to be regained or won. 10,000 pounds of hope, on the shoulders
Lyin' on the floor and through your teeth. Tell me where you've gone, speak softly. Crawlin' from the dark up to your feet. Tell me where you've gone,
I just heard the news, a new one is on your line. I just heard the news, it's taking all my time. What will you do when I'm fine? What will I write
He has no time loneliness is a stinger in his mind. A mind with two hearts, each with two parts, all of which ache for a wife. He bears it in his chest
There are things you tend to say when you're alone. There are tones you tend to take when you're at home. Let me be that thorn, thistle, or key. Let
Mother's sick. She's gone mad. A daughter's tricked, she's been had. Life just don't always fold up neat. Sadness will come in different sheets.
Bound in blue, they wind into a love some would say is grand in its making. Worms may sing, that from beneath their graves, they're found embracing.
Maybe he could wait a while? Maybe grow too tired or old. Maybe they just lay to look. While we were young, we all laughed and we sung. Now we've been
