Songtext von Trucks

Every morning, fighting through a coma Each affliction carries its misnomer Trucks roll loud into the port They go where I could never know My toes are freezing, cold cuts through the persian Rug I've stolen, dad thinks that I've borrowed He gives more than I can pay back Twenty-two, I'll never pay him back Oh, ashtray sitting on the table filled with dead moths Floating in the rainwater with pill bags It's winter, south of the river without a job Oh, I don't see it getting any better Empty bottles, if not for the burnt butts Falling over, wind in from the coast cuts Hard and sharp, messes up my hair Leaves fall, peppering the air Oh, ashtray sitting on the table filled with dead moths Floating in the rainwater with pill bags It's winter, south of the river without a job Oh, I don't see it getting any better No, I don't see it getting any better Oh, ashtray sitting on the table filled with dead moths Floating in the rainwater with pill bags It's winter, south of the river without a job Oh, I don't see it getting any better