I love to ruin my tent, I love the romances

From the bag of angels a sawn-off broken wing

They're drinking whiskey, they're 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



She's shooting broken arrows, she's shooting crooked smiles

All along that wicked bench from the belly of a swine

She's pouring whiskey, she's getting high

Too scared to see herself, reflections of the devil's eyes



Reflections of the devil's eyes

The King is dead, the well is dry

The well is dry



The need may be your twisted needs

It may be you're crave

To rest my head on souls of fire

Sight the swarm I kiss my eyes