If when you call she comes for you: give your all, boy... 
we shot the holes in the portable well: and that's why 
your boyfriend tracked us 
in the wastes that the demons of hell avoid as the road 
bends 
from a slack din done blasted 
done, by the archangel's light, "I hate your new 
boyfriend!" 
we sow the songs the earth bears our wrong our pales 
wrongs all along!