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Staring out the window of our tour bus |
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And it's just the horny driver and us |
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Sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss |
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Talking 'bout our friendly border drug bust |
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And I know the future's cloudy and gray |
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Record like mine, give up or go gay |
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You're looking down on me with blue and black eyes |
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Pissing down a storm from purple night skies |
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And I know the concept's muddy and trite |
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That all that is large and all that is slight |
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Flowing in the stream of holy floodlights |
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Writing holy books, |
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Lord knows we bite |
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But if this is your will in my testament |
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I will bow to no belief that they bent |
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Still I'm just a sperm begat from your love |
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Basking in the bread, the blood of your dove |
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Can I lie with you in your grave? |
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Can I lie with you in your grave? |
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There's a crack in the edge at the end of the world |
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Where I will sit with my love in it's fluorescent swirl |
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Eat us up, break it down to the tiniest cell |
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In a room with a view and a window to hell |
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Where those who buried bodies in their barrels of fun |
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Will be marched through museums that display what they've done |
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They'll be shot up through the sky by a cannon of sin |
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Where we'll reluctantly let them in |
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So can I lie in your grave at the edge at the end of the world? |
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Where I will sit with my love in it's fluorescent swirl |
|
Eat us up, break it down to the tiniest cell |
|
In a room with a view and a window to hell |
|
Where those who buried bodies in their barrels of fun |
|
Will be marched through museums that display what they've done |
|
They'll be shot up through the sky by a cannon of sin |
|
We'll reluctantly let them in |
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So can I lie in your grave? |
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Can I lie with you in your grave? |
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Can I lie with you in your grave? |
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Can I lie with you in your grave? |
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Can I lie with you in your grave? |
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So can I lie in your grave? |
