We are here, we were there, We are nearing people everywhere we go. People catching in their hands The ashes of the Marlboro man. Burn them down, burn
Magnetic tapes are old bloodstreams For this recording machine. We're serving all the jaded hearts Of those without a place to start. And washing them
Ill show you a trick with ants when the suns high in the sky we can burn them up to crisy black shells see them crunched by old slow slick snails light
(Instrumental)
