Текст (слова) песни: The Fatima Mansions - The White Knuckle Express
This truck stop: rancid gravy A man with no hands waving and the dog `round my leg bumps and grinds It rains for miles out there on mud and tar and still air and the fungus-lined gap between stinking towns
Pork-Eyes got him a brand new hand He`s gonna grasp you He won`t ask you and he`ll tell you it`s all your fault
CHORUS: The cup runneth over, your jaws to bless on the white-knuckle express
She is [grace?] naked, I cannot see her face She slides across me I am wearing a collar and a tie
We`re tuneful, cute and giving See, that`s how we make our living In a hall full of corpses, we`d smile and bounce on Some say it`s aimless bullshit but they come from big houses and budgets and, although I don`t look it, I`m getting really fucking old
Pork-Eyes, in the presence of a sweet young girl: He`s gonna spill you, it better thrill you, or he`ll tear this place apart Pork-Eyes! We`re going up! Feet-first, feet-first! and the legend on that girl`s thigh reads "Love = Hurt = Hate"--CHORUS
Pork-Eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront bars where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will muffle things that really, really are and you`ll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feet to come out minutes later, bleeding, torn above, torn underneath...
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