FYI - The song is at the end of The Brave And The Snake after a very long pause.
I am a handmade handgun Operated by paper crooks, Loaded up with bullets of blank pages torn from your little black book. You can call me all your favorites, Oh, I love those dirty looks. You know I'll be drunk and waiting on the steps of St. Anthony's church.
Knuckle-blood stains the doorframe Frustration both ways You see me knock, I see you gaze through the peeker Whatch me sneak far away As I push my pleas through the shades. I'm out of sight, for I know violence is nonsense from a dime I spent your mind time stop for us (caught up) Cost of a heart accosted, don't blink
Nothin's so strangled like us Nothin' deranged like that love Nothin' explains the way I played like new things don't break Live under your ribs, a toybox, an Apple plugin, Tuned to tune out, give out what's yours, Like when in doubt, play the mouse in the mouth like Please don't let me die.
But you know me, I could never lay you down to sleep. Take a knee, spillin' salt and shame upon your pretty feet. With a head full of bourbon, I do this, Though I love you and I think you hurt me on purpose...
I am a handmade handgun Operated by paper crooks, Loaded up with bullets of blank pages torn from your little black book. You can call me all your favorites, Oh, I love those dirty looks. You know I'll be drunk and waiting on the steps of St. Anthony's church.
I thought of everything, Even your paper ring, The organs playin' our song, Playin' our song, so sing along.
Hail to the graces, the lord is with you. A blessing for the souls that walk about Walk among you till this hour of death, Walk among you till this hour of death.
(Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; Blessed art thou among men and women, And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, Now and at the hour of our death. Amen.)
You come to find me, hopelessly Wrapped around the gun, staring at the sun. Don't you fuckin' lie to me, G'head and try it, see, God's witness, Pick a sense and listens, hidden, Layin' down behind a line of ivy He can hand you pure moments Or quit you from every sense you got, Protect you with the spectacles, testicles, wallet watch,
But the devil keeps an open shop He pays his bills and fills his pouts Thanks to the single sable sheep, hidden in that hollow pot It's a classic case of damned if you do, damned if you don't And I'll be damned if I end up playing Job with God's loving hand on my throat You could swear I traced a trail of wormwood slipping from the Empyrean, But Providence, just a myth if I aim to let my trigger prey
But you know me, I could never lay you down to sleep I'm a prostrate pater tiger supplicating at your pretty feet My mouth may run on a loaded gun and a bully full of bourbon I only do this 'cause I love ya; I know you'd never hurt me on purpose.
I am a handmade handgun Operated by paper crooks, Loaded up with bullets of blank pages torn from your little black book. You can call me all your favorites, Oh, I love those dirty looks. You know I'll be drunk and waiting on the steps of St. Anthony's church.
I thought of everything, Even your paper ring, The organs playin' our song, Playin' our song, so sing along.
I thought of everything, Even your paper ring, The organs playin' our song, Playin' our song, so sing along.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.