Staring out the window of our tour bus
And it's just the horny driver and us.
We sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss,
Talking about our friendly border drug bust,
And I know the future's cloudy and grey.
Record like mine, give up or go gay.
You're looking down on me with blue and black eyes,
Pissing down a storm from purple night skies
ahuh ahuuuh ahhh ahuh
And I know the concept's muddy and trite
That all that is large and all that is slight
Is flowing in the stream of holy floodlights.
At writing holy books, Lord knows we bite
But if this is your will and my testament,
I will bow to no belief that they bent.
Still I'm just a sperm begat from your love,
Basking in the bread, the blood of your dove.
ahuh ahuuuh ahhh ahuh
Can I lie with you in your grave?
Can I lie with you in your grave?
There's a crack in the edge of the end of the world
Where I will sit with my love in it's fluorescent swirl.