(Tom Waits/William Burroughs)



Now, George was a good straight boy to begin with, but there was bad blood

In him; someway he got into the magic bullets and that leads straight to

Devil's work, just like marijuana leads to heroin; you think yo ucan take

Them bullets or leave 'em, do you?

Just save a few for your bad days



Well, now, we all have those bad days when you can't shoot for shit.



The more of them magics you use, the more bad days you have without them

So it comes down finally to all your days being bad without the bullets

It's magics or nothing

Time to stop chippying around and kidding yourself,

Kid, you're hooked, heavy as lead



And that's where old George found himself

Out there at the crossroads

Molding the Devil's bullets

Now a man figures it's his bullets, so it will

Hit what he wants to hit

But it don't always work that way



You see, some bullets is special for a single aim

A certain stag, or a certain person

And no matter where you are, that's where the bullet will end up

And in the moment of aiming, the gun turns into a dowser's wand

And point where the bullet wants to go



(George Schmid was moving in a series of convulsive spasms, like someone

with an epileptic fit, with his face distorted and his eyes wild like a

lassoed horse bracing his legs. But something kept pulling him on. And now

he is picking up the skulls and making the circle.)



I guess old George didn't rightly know what he's getting himself into

The fit was on him and it carried him right to the crossroads

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