Don’t you know it’s an easy thing when it’s lost?
Does it show when the ends are frayed and it’s tossed out?
Lined with silver thread
I’ve seen your wasted behind

She’s so lackadaisical
Should have been a west coast bride
Back seat on Electra glide
The pilot’s flying drive by fades

Don’t hold your breath too long
This tunnel is a Texas mile
Cavities and yellow eyes
Bleacher dates the second prize

Cherry picking favors
My dash was locked I guess I feel fine
The way the river bends
The woman’s bending over me

Texas, Texas, Texas, Texas
 

Frontwards
I am the only one
Searching for you
And if I get caught
Then the search is through

And the stories you hear
You know they never add up
I hear the natives fussing at the data chart
Be quiet the weather’s on the night news

Empty homes
Plastic cones
Stolen rims
Were they alloy or chrome?

Well I’ve got style, miles and miles
So much style that it’s wasting
So much style that it’s wasting
So much style that it’s wasting

Now she’s the only one
Who always inhales
Paris is stale
And it’s war if we fail

And in the migrant hotels
They never sleep, they never will
Their souls are crumbling like a dirt clod hole
Your cigarette cuts to the inside

Empty homes
Plastic cones
Stolen rims
Were they alloy or chrome?

Well I’ve got style, miles and miles
So much style that it’s leaving
This pattern’s torn that we’re weaving
This pattern’s torn that we’re weaving
 

Feed 'Em to the Lions (Linden)
Every building same height
Every street a straight line
Team colours yellow and blue

Cheerlead single file
Perfect smiles unaffected
And you won’t forget our colours blue
And you won’t forget it

Twenty miles westward
Home of the red birds
Team colours crimson blue

Open up your purses
For the boys who reimburse us
With their goal line stand on fourth and two
And that goal line stand

Summer’s dry and fallow
Reservoirs are shallow
Spillways unexposed

It’s never been inspected
When the government’s elected
And the fields will turn to yellow too
And the fields will turn
 
 

Shoot the Singer
Someone took
In these pants
Somebody painted over paint
Painted wood

And where he stood
No one stands
It’s been said he’s sitting now
In the churning land

Well I’ve seen saints
But remember
That I forgot
To flag 'em down when they pass

And in the morning light
You hold that ashtray tight
You can put it out
But I can’t put it out

My hand shook
Down and out
I’ve got the blisters of the world
World new

I name the book
After you
So look up and watch the camera lens
When the risers fade

Slow it down
Song is sacred
And brother, you’re hunter
And you’re right at home

And in the morning light
I hold my ashtray tight
I can take it down
And you can’t take it down

Don’t expect, don’t expect, don’t expect, don’t expect