Donovan Quinn
The States
and when our drummer diedwe just kept onsplit up his cigarettesand stole lyrics from his songs.and when the bassists ripped by coatman, I thought I’d freezeas the wind raked whispersfrom scrawny city trees.high times, pale daysthe Western World in a fadeaway.the roads from up heredon’t look like roads at allbut more like pencil sketchessome lunatic would draw.hangovers, rendezvouswith Mascara girls with the mascara blues.
From Letras Mania