He's a wounded animal
he lives in a matchbox
He's a wounded animal
and he's been coming
around here
He's a dying breed
he's a dying breed
His daughter is twenty years
of snow falling
She's twenty years
of strangers looking into
each other's eyes
She's twenty years of clean
She never truly hated
anyone or anything
She's a dying breed
she's a dying breed
She says I'd prefer the moss
I'd prefer the mouth
A baby of the swamps
a baby of the South
I'm twenty years of clean
And I never truly hated
anyone or anything
Twenty years of clean
twenty years of clean
But I got to get me out of here
this place is full of
dirty old men
and the navigators
with their mappy maps
and moldy heads
and pissing on sugar cubes
I got to get me out of here
this place is full of
dirty old men
and the navigators
with their mappy maps
and moldy heads
and pissing on sugar cubes
while you
stare at your boots
And the words float out
like holograms
And the words float out
like holograms
And the words float out
like holograms
They say feel the waltz
feel the waltz
come on baby baby
now feel the waltz
Feel the waltz
feel the waltz
come on baby baby
now feel the waltz
Oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh