I love to ruin my tent, I love the romances
From the bag of angels a sawn-off broken wing
Theyre drinking whiskey, theyre getting high
They cast the shadows and the passing of the summer sky
The passing of the summer sky
The King is dead, the well is dry
The well is dry
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Shes shooting broken arrows, shes shooting crooked smiles
All along that wicked bench from the belly of a swine
Shes pouring whiskey, shes getting high
Too scared to see herself, reflections of the devils eyes
Reflections of the devils eyes
The King is dead, the well is dry
The well is dry
The need may be your twisted needs
It may be youre crave
To rest my head on souls of fire
Sight the swarm I kiss my eyes