Из альбома: The Worse Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You
Drop my gloves into the stove
Its echo down the grave
I fell in love with those electric lights
Drop me in the town so late
In real behind them...
To strip the lands from Christian and Friday night girls
Bracing for Sunday to come
I only ever held one love
Her name was Maryann
She died and bring her child by her brother
He died because I murdered him
Shutting though his jelly eye
On myself his wicked eyes
I felt the needle though my Friday night girl
Bracing for Sunday to come
Empty lines and shifting sheets
Staring rosary holes in my ceiling
Waiting for my puddles to deliver
And reveal itself to me
But all I hear is subway dreams...
I'm a Friday night girl
Bracing for Sunday to come
Bracing for Sunday to come