This truck stop: rancid gravy

A man with no hands waving

And the dog 'round my leg bumps 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 overyour jaws to bless

On the white-knuckle express



She is [grace? ] nakedI cannot see her face

She slides across me

I am wearing a collar and a tie



We're tunefulcute and giving

Seethat's how we make our living

In a hall full of corpseswe'd smile and bounce on

Some say it's aimless bullshit

But they come from big houses and budgets

Andalthough I don't look itI'm getting really fucking old



Pork-eyesin the presence of a sweet young girl:

He's gonna spill youit better thrill you

Or he'll tear this place apart

Pork-eyes! we're going up! feet-firstfeet-first!

And the legend on that girl's thigh reads "love = hurt = hate"--chorus



Pork-eyeshe will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront bars

Where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will muffle things that reallyreally are

And you'll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feet

To come out minutes laterbleedingtorn abovetorn underneath...