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And I've been waiting for a year a day, Some strange weather must be blowing' my way, Cause I got no mind to go or to stay, Or be left behind...
Holding' hands with an impotent dream, In a brothel of fake energy, Put a nickel in the graveyard machine, I get higher and lower, I get higher and lower, Like a tired soldier, With nothing' to shoot, And nowhere to lose, This bottle of blues...
Egos drone, And pose alone, Like black balloons, All banged and blown, On a backwoods river, The infidels shiver, In the stench of belief...
I tell my momma I'm a hundred years late, I'm over the rails, And out of the race, And the crippled psalms, Of an age that won't thaw, Are ringing in my ears...
Holding' hands with an impotent dream, In a brothel of fake energy, Put a nickel in the graveyard machine, I get higher and lower, I get higher and lower, Like a tired soldier, With nothing' to shoot, And nowhere to lose, Bottle of blues...






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