Barbed wire and iron
Un-refined and set out to line dry
Two-step on my toes and run through fire
Bone colored skin with no form
Overburdened with wet clothes, most are torn
Come on over, my dear, my devil
Blow your dirty air, blow your horn
It’s a wailing, moaning sky over head
Baby, it’s not that I hate you.
I’m just tired of feeling dead.
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