Twelve men broke loose in '73 From Milhaven maximum security Twelve pictures lined up across the front page seems the mounties had a summertime war to
Well I thing we've got a problem here Her voice doesn't sound right But I left myself on the answering machine Said "I'm back in town tonight." I feel
Me debunk an American myth? And take my life in my hands? Where the Great Plains begin at the hundredth meridian At the hundredth meridian where the
Sled Dogs after dinner close their eyes on their howlin' ways Kurt cobain, reincarnated, sighs and licks his face Then they drift past strips of Seregeneti
They shot a movie once in my home town Every body was in it from miles around Out at the speedway some kinda Elvis thing Well I ain't no movie star but
The beautiful lull, the dangerous tug We get to feel small from high up above And after a glimpse over the top The rest of the world becomes a gift shop
Bourbon blues on the street loose and complete Under skies all smoky blue-green I can Forksake the dixie dead shake So we dance the sidewalk clean My
I had this dream where I relished The fray and the screaming that filled my head all day It was as though I'd been spit there, settled in , into a pocket
Instructions from the manual could no have been more plain The blues are still required , The blues are still required again Past territorial piss-posts
Violins and tambourines This is what we think they mean It's hard to say, it's sad but true I'm kinda dumb and so are you When the mystique varies thus
I could make you scared if I want me to I'm not prepared, but if I have to He said I can make you scared It's kinda what I do If you are prepared to
Sundown in the Paris of the prairies Wheat Kings have all their treasures barried All you hear are the rusty breezes Pushing around the weather vane
There She Blows, Jacque Cousteau Hear her sing so sweat and low Lull me overboard, cold-out Gathered in a swallowed hole. Do I want to? With All that
He said I'm fabulously rich C'mon just lets go She kinda bit her lip Geez, I don't know But I can guarantee There'll be no knock on the door I'm total
Bill Barilko disappeared that summer He was on a fishing trip The last goal he ever scored won the Leafs the cup They didn't win another until 1962 the
First we'd climb a tree and maybe then we'd talk Or sit silently and listen to our thoughts With illusions of someday casting a golden light No dress
