Из альбома: Tiny Cities
We're going down the road
Towards tiny cities made of ashes
Gonna hit you on the face
Gonna punch you in your glasses
Oh no!
Just got a message that said
"Yeah, hell is freezin' over"
I got a phone call from the Lord
Saying, "Boy, go get a sweater right now."
So we're drinking, drinking, drinking, drinking, drinking
Coca, Coca-Cola
I can feel it rolling right on down
Right on down my throat
As we're headed down the road
Towards tiny cities made of ashes
Gonna get dressed up in plastic
Gonna shake hands with the masses
Oh no!
Does anybody know a way that a body could get away?
Does anybody know a way?
We're going down the road
Towards tiny cities made of ashes
Gonna hit you on the face
Gonna punch you in your glasses
I'm wearing myself a t-shirt
Says, "The world is my ashtray"
Our hearts pump dust
And our hair's all gray
Just got a message
Saying that hell has frozen over
Got a phone call from the Lord
Saying, "Boy, go get a sweater right now!"
Does anybody know a way that a body could get away?
Does anybody know a way?
We're drinking, drinking, drinking, drinking
Coca, Coca-Cola
I can feel it rolling right on down
Right on down my throat
And as we're headed down the road
Towards tiny cities made of ashes
Gonna lay down in the baths
Where they coat you in molasses
Oh no!
Does anybody know a way that a body could get away?
Does anybody know a way?