Из альбома: Beers, Steers & Queers
Temper frayed and sanctified,
Delivered up in flames,
No eyes, no grace, no motion,
No mention of the game.
The sweetest flower in the valley,
The sickest joke in the book,
Why don't you keep your eyes tightly shut,
'Cos you don't want to look.
If you can't sit still,
You can't by a thrill
I don't know whether to leave you,
Or push you over the edge,
But still the pleasure is always mine,
No matter what I've said.
If you can't sit still,
You can't by a thrill