Graverobber Lyrics
| Song | Graverobber |
| Artist | The Damned Things |
| Album | Ironiclast |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作曲 : Buckley, Caggiano, Trohman | |
| I got caught dragging the scraps from the heap | |
| By the junkyard dogs | |
| They won't leave me alone, no | |
| 'Cause I went for the pearl | |
| They keep in the mouth of the pig | |
| But he won't let it go | |
| No he won't let it go | |
| So I broke the lock to the vault | |
| Where they buried my child | |
| But he won't stay alive | |
| No, he can't be revived | |
| So don't push me | |
| I said I was leaving | |
| I just wanted to stick my hands | |
| Up the shirts of the grieving | |
| Graverobber, you can't take me home | |
| I don't care what nobody says, lord | |
| That's my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold | |
| We take another drink of the dust that don't just blow, it pours | |
| Straight from the veins of the ghost of our lord | |
| And it won't be long until my cask is a casket | |
| And I've righted my wrongs, I've righted my wrongs | |
| Graverobber, you can't take me home | |
| I don't care what nobody says, lord | |
| That's my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold | |
| I lost what I've found | |
| In the feedback and chemicals | |
| We're growing mold on the fruits of our labours | |
| I lost what I've found | |
| In the feedback and chemicals | |
| We're growing mold on the fruits of our labours | |
| I go back to the well | |
| With my head in my hands | |
| And my tail between my legs | |
| I go back to the well | |
| With my head in my hands | |
| And my tail between my legs | |
| Graverobber, you can't take me home | |
| I don't care what nobody says, lord | |
| That's my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold |
| zuo qu : Buckley, Caggiano, Trohman | |
| I got caught dragging the scraps from the heap | |
| By the junkyard dogs | |
| They won' t leave me alone, no | |
| ' Cause I went for the pearl | |
| They keep in the mouth of the pig | |
| But he won' t let it go | |
| No he won' t let it go | |
| So I broke the lock to the vault | |
| Where they buried my child | |
| But he won' t stay alive | |
| No, he can' t be revived | |
| So don' t push me | |
| I said I was leaving | |
| I just wanted to stick my hands | |
| Up the shirts of the grieving | |
| Graverobber, you can' t take me home | |
| I don' t care what nobody says, lord | |
| That' s my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold | |
| We take another drink of the dust that don' t just blow, it pours | |
| Straight from the veins of the ghost of our lord | |
| And it won' t be long until my cask is a casket | |
| And I' ve righted my wrongs, I' ve righted my wrongs | |
| Graverobber, you can' t take me home | |
| I don' t care what nobody says, lord | |
| That' s my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold | |
| I lost what I' ve found | |
| In the feedback and chemicals | |
| We' re growing mold on the fruits of our labours | |
| I lost what I' ve found | |
| In the feedback and chemicals | |
| We' re growing mold on the fruits of our labours | |
| I go back to the well | |
| With my head in my hands | |
| And my tail between my legs | |
| I go back to the well | |
| With my head in my hands | |
| And my tail between my legs | |
| Graverobber, you can' t take me home | |
| I don' t care what nobody says, lord | |
| That' s my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold |
| zuò qǔ : Buckley, Caggiano, Trohman | |
| I got caught dragging the scraps from the heap | |
| By the junkyard dogs | |
| They won' t leave me alone, no | |
| ' Cause I went for the pearl | |
| They keep in the mouth of the pig | |
| But he won' t let it go | |
| No he won' t let it go | |
| So I broke the lock to the vault | |
| Where they buried my child | |
| But he won' t stay alive | |
| No, he can' t be revived | |
| So don' t push me | |
| I said I was leaving | |
| I just wanted to stick my hands | |
| Up the shirts of the grieving | |
| Graverobber, you can' t take me home | |
| I don' t care what nobody says, lord | |
| That' s my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold | |
| We take another drink of the dust that don' t just blow, it pours | |
| Straight from the veins of the ghost of our lord | |
| And it won' t be long until my cask is a casket | |
| And I' ve righted my wrongs, I' ve righted my wrongs | |
| Graverobber, you can' t take me home | |
| I don' t care what nobody says, lord | |
| That' s my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold | |
| I lost what I' ve found | |
| In the feedback and chemicals | |
| We' re growing mold on the fruits of our labours | |
| I lost what I' ve found | |
| In the feedback and chemicals | |
| We' re growing mold on the fruits of our labours | |
| I go back to the well | |
| With my head in my hands | |
| And my tail between my legs | |
| I go back to the well | |
| With my head in my hands | |
| And my tail between my legs | |
| Graverobber, you can' t take me home | |
| I don' t care what nobody says, lord | |
| That' s my bed on the side of the road | |
| Graverobber, your hands are getting cold |
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