Tekster:
Volt Son American Central Dust

I've had strychnine, I thought I was dead I snorted my father and I'm still alive I did it because that's how it is done I'm the same as everyone, just

Memories of Crescent City Wednesday nights at the Rock-n-Bowl On the bandstand there is Snooks and guitar Pure gasoline for the soul Take me back to

Smoke fills the dreams of the live gone lonely Wait in line, pay the man you might see John Barleycorn make his way among the dirty diamonds Shared ground

It's a full throttle train, an existential bane It's only grays and blues when nothing else matters It takes a strong will to keep it caged and still

Shots are filled and boredom killed The last chance purple of dawn Pagan roads and catacombs Lost on the way to the heart Bar souls and shifty eyes Grievances

say When you're lost in folly, out of luck in the worst way Love is a fog and you stumble every step you make The dust of daylight holds you down and