No friend of golden hand Oiled with rose and smelly then As your blood burned poppy red Across your velvet coat Your deep blue velvet coat
It’s there in Montana prairie grass The suits shot Custard down His red spot tired, his black boots shine How beautiful you look to the flies The happy kingdom of flies
Dear Custard there’s a Wal-Mart now Where once the grizzlies roamed Mountains of hair spray and cowboys shirts And everyone has a gun Everyone still has a gun
But high in the rafters above the lights Red finches, they hide their nest And when our cars drive out of sight They sing symphonies across the night In that forest of heating pipes
And out past the parking lot along the curb In the wilds of weed and trash Prayed on his love, the smallest ants Fight battles for the glory of the queen Such a tiny, glorious queen
But even the empress of the ants For whom ten thousand fall Makes not a sound beneath the blades Of our great empire of lords How quiet is the empire of lordsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
