I love to ruin my tent, I love the romances From the bag of angels a sawn-off broken wing Theyre drinking whiskey, theyre getting high They cast the shadows and the passing of the summer sky
The passing of the summer sky The King is dead, the well is dry The well is dry
Shes shooting broken arrows, shes shooting crooked smiles All along that wicked bench from the belly of a swine Shes pouring whiskey, shes getting high Too scared to see herself, reflections of the devils eyes
Reflections of the devils eyes The King is dead, the well is dry The well is dry
The need may be your twisted needs It may be you are crave To rest my head on souls of fire Sight the swarm I kiss my eyes
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