When two low-flying aeroplanes, 'bout a hundred feet high Dropped a bunch o' bales o' somethin', some hit me in the eye... So I cut a bale open,
Silhouette Jane measures rain in a cracked cup on the sill In Embry's last photograph he disappears over a hill Darrell Dotson waits in the grass for
Translation: Reverend Horton Heat. Bales Of Cocaine.
Still tired sighing feeling nothing. the second before I'm done I already regret the waste of time. I feel nothing but a crazy heartbeat. still tired
