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LYRICS

GRACE OF GOD


Standing in line

For throwaway food for a throwaway man

Shows me his teeth

Or should I say, the want of them

His girl was burned in the floor above

Left her to die when push came to shove


Waiting for food

That no one wanted yesterday

It’s all a waste

So you might as well give it all away

They say, ‘God bless’, put a bag in your hand of bent canned goods

And bread like sand

The man was wrong:

You can get lunch for free

If you’re willing to trade your pride

And stand in the street

There but for the grace of God goes me.


Every curb is a cliff by the abyss when I feel like this

And I’m just a home away

From homelessness

And I look into their eyes and see

There but for the grace of God goes me.

God! God! God!


MAKING IT DIE


Here’s something I’ll never forget

No matter how many years

My girl waiting in a line

To get sucked through the clinic gears

They don’t give you any big cigars

But they’ve got People magazines

So you don’t have to listen to the hum

Of the hidden machine

Making it die.

And as they took her hand away

I could see she was trying to be brave

She even tried to smile

She even tried to wave.

But what they took away from me

Was more than they put in a shallow grave.

It was what a hundred nights of heartache

Couldn’t save from

Making it die.

And I’m ashamed to admit I even wondered how long it’d be until

They finished sucking out her insides

So I could get me a decent meal.

And when they let her back outside

There was nothing in her eyes,

And I knew

That they had finished the job

That’d begun with our first lies of

Making it die.


CAN’T TRUST DADDY


You can’t trust Daddy after five on Fridays

And Mommy just tells you to watch what you say.

You’d think when Daddy starts singing everything’d be okay

But then Daddy starts swinging so get out of the way.

The blues don’t mix so good with the booze,

And Mommy, don’t it make her brown eyes blue.

‘Cause when Daddy starts singing listening to the records play

Daddy starts swinging so get out of the way.

And Mommy, she raised eight kids:

Whiskey-bred, Irish Catholic.

The kids all sleep under their beds.

They make dummies with pillows for their heads.

‘Cause he comes in when you’re sleeping, and that’s when you’re really afraid,

Cause then Daddy starts swinging you can’t get out of the way.

And Daddy died in the drink.

Took us all down when he sank.

Can’t trust myself not to do the same.

Every time I take a drink I’m playing a game.

Cause when I’m singing, I’m screaming,

And I start to feel the rage,

And after the show just get out of the way.


HIT THE TOP


When you’re falling down and you need something to hold onto,

I’ll be waiting for you at your table.

‘Cause your friends won’t be around,

And you know you need some rocket fuel

When you’ve got a mule kicking in your stable.

‘Cause you’ll hit the top

Before you see the bottom,

But you’ll hit the bottom

Before you see the top.

Now you ain’t no philosopher

But you wonder what it’s all for

When you know you won’t break ground til you’re buried.

You’re like the shark that never drowns

'Cause you’re always moving on,

And everything you’ll ever have'll be temporary.

 
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