Burn the river dry de Jim White

Door is one's
frame is #39;s
throw that rock right through the window.
hey, i know him, he's a singer.
roam
looks like phoenix,
borrow the car from it's owner.
that
he's dreaming the dreams of suburbia.
yeah suburbia.
Me, i don't
i just pay what it takes to feel alive.
cause somehow somewhere,
hell everyone i know is
just waiting to burn the river dry.
And nothing works more than once,
it keeps you restless, always moving
fretful searching for a brand new
spanking form of deliverance.
movies ,
dreams of wild old fucking grandeur
snap your fingers, now you're
close your eyes as you sell out
to all them suckers that you hate.
yeah, them suckers that you hate.
Me, i don't
i just pay what it takes to feel alive
somehow, somewhere
everyone i know is
just waiting to burn that river dry.
burn that river dry.
Hands that once reached for heaven
grabbing at the penny in the sewer.
smell of your soul burning on the skewer,
and all that dirt that you have swallowed.
the howling voice from the closet,
better run away just because it
seems to know a little bit too much about
all them shallow graves that you got buried
in the field of your experience.
Me, i don't
i just pay what it takes to feel alive.
somehow somewhere, hell everyone i know
is
just waiting to burn that river dry.