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