67 Blackout کے بول

Put the knife under the flame You won't feel any pain Hold this teacloth in your mouth 67 blackout Dead donkey in the snow Down by where the ferns grow Saw it's spirit leaving south 67 blackout We went out on the tear And we danced the carpets bare When I drenched the mid week doubt 67 blackout My nerves they got shot I deserved what I got A left hook in a bout 67 blackout I taped the microphone to the chair And sang through the speaker Down the cables I did shout 67 blackout There's a tape of you talking Buried in an attic somewhere I asked down the main street for it No one knows a thing about it For a poultice we'll soak some bread Then we'll carry you to bed With or without 67 blackout