|
Staring out the window of our tour bus |
|
And it's just the horny driver and us |
|
Sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss |
|
Talking 'bout our friendly border drug bust |
|
And I know the future's cloudy and gray |
|
Record like mine, give up or go gay |
|
You're looking down on me with blue and black eyes |
|
Pissing down a storm from purple night skies |
|
And I know the concept's muddy and trite |
|
That all that is large and all that is slight |
|
Flowing in the stream of holy floodlights |
|
Writing holy books, |
|
Lord knows we bite |
|
But if this is your will in my testament |
|
I will bow to no belief that they bent |
|
Still I'm just a sperm begat from your love |
|
Basking in the bread, the blood of your dove |
|
Can I lie with you in your grave? |
|
Can I lie with you in your grave? |
|
There's a crack in the edge at the end of the world |
|
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 |
|
Where we'll reluctantly let them in |
|
So can I lie in your grave at the edge at the end of the world? |
|
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 |
|
So can I lie in your grave? |
|
Can I lie with you in your grave? |
|
Can I lie with you in your grave? |
|
Can I lie with you in your grave? |
|
Can I lie with you in your grave? |
|
So can I lie in your grave? |