When the feeling comes it always leaves,
to the top of the hill,
the hill of
thieves.
Brush that curious out.
Hurry away.
You've got the hole in your head to feel
the breeze.
If you're gonna ride, baby,
ride athe wild horse.
Iwe can't drink no
more,
but I'llwe'll try.
You can't find us, baby,
in the basement.
And itI slug your
in your fucking head.
