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lirik lagu the coward robert ford - eighties montage of stray dogs fighting

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you want to quench your thirst
it’s what you feared, only worse
flowing rivers
of the blood you yearn
the end times are nigh
so fix the pedal to the floor
suck exhaust pipe
the petrol tastes sweet with a bottled wine
the metal burns my lips
lit my lungs up like a candle wick
standing in the doorway, clear in sight
tv static hangs in the light
i get so afraid of your omnipresence
weighing me down like a lowly peasant
everything is cool
everything is fine
they’ve traded thеir scripture for guns and knives

breath in smokе, ’cause it never really ends
it’s my choice to choke
it’s my own
not yours
give up the ghost
it never really was yours to own
’cause it’s you
you love the most
like birds hitting windows
mangled bodies hitting stone
the fading light of the hovered vulture
hangs above like an evil sculpture
like smoking barrels
from lone gunmen, hunting droves
out we run for a sense of cover
but the trapdoor opens as we go under

i wait with tethered breath
while i held my sins tight against my chest
waiting for the sirens or the trumpet choir
like a paranoid buyer on supplier
it’s alright, it’s okay
could i force your forgiveness anyway?
is there something you demand to hear me say?
like talk about
all the things i’ve done?
how i’ve cast out almost everyone
cling to dreams lining my father’s shrine
oh, how i make the virgin mary statues cry
this sad dog and pony show
the audience leaves ’cause it’s too d~mn slow
i can’t help it though
i only draw the tower tarots
breath in smoke
breath in smoke
breath in smoke
breath in smoke

’cause it never really ends
it never really ends
never really ends
never really ends

like birds hitting windows
mangled bodies hitting stone
like birds hitting windows
mangled bodies hitting stone

breath in smoke, ’cause it never really ends
it’s my choice to choke
it’s my own, not yours
give up the ghost
it never really was yours to own
’cause it’s you you love the most
like birds hitting windows
mangled bodies hitting stone
the fading light of the hovered vulture
hangs above like an evil sculpture
like smoking barrels
from lone gunmen, hunting droves
out we for a sense of cover
but the trapdoor opens as we go under
like birds hitting windows
like mangled bodies hitting stone
like birds hitting windows
like mangled bodies hitting stone

just like birds hitting windows
like bodies hitting stone
stone, stone
stone
the sun is going dim


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