Traveling worlds and passing nights From whence you came Surgeons that cut flesh and bone But cause no pain Where gouging eyes And severing hands Make canvases for three For when the morning comes These wounds do heal Three bottles on a servant's plate Three bottles on a servant's plate Filled with hands, eyes and heart But servant and soldier Have soiled hearts And ill luck comes creeping in Miserable girl what shall you do Three bottles gone A sinning hand A swine heart And two sly eyes When morning comes the wounds do heal One man runs to where the dirt is deepest Face down and exposed The other's hands that twitch like a thief And eyes blinded by the night Setting fire wrongs the right Now beg for your bodies backTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
