letra de the white knuckle express - fatima mansions
this truck stop: rancid gravy
a man with no hands waving
and the dog ’round my leg b-mps and grinds
it rains for miles out there
on mud and tar and still air
and the fungus-lined gap between stinking towns
pork-eyes got him a brand new hand
he’s gonna grasp you
he won’t ask you
and he’ll tell you it’s all your fault
chorus:
the cup runneth over, your jaws to bless
on the white-knuckle express
she is [grace?] naked, i cannot see her face
she slides across me
i am wearing a collar and a tie
we’re tuneful, cute and giving
see, that’s how we make our living
in a hall full of corpses, we’d smile and bounce on
some say it’s aimless bullsh-t
but they come from big houses and budgets
and, although i don’t look it, i’m getting really f-cking old
pork-eyes, in the presence of a sweet young girl:
he’s gonna spill you, it better thrill you,
or he’ll tear this place apart
pork-eyes! we’re going up! feet-first, feet-first!
and the legend on that girl’s thigh reads “love = hurt = hate”–chorus
pork-eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront bars
where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will m-ffle things that really, really are
and you’ll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feet
to come out minutes later, bleeding, torn above, torn underneath…
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