|
Way down in Toxarcana I was ten years old |
|
In a fever dream, dark night of the soul |
|
Well, it was brillig and the slithey toves |
|
I bid the world goodbye by the dead bog oaks |
|
Drop down in the swampblood |
|
Drop down in the blood |
|
I'm washed in the swampblood |
|
I'm washed in the blood, aye |
|
Well, dusty bibles lead to a dirty south |
|
He's sittin' with a toadstool rottin' in his mouth |
|
In the clearin' where the bras hang down from the trees |
|
He's cappin' a coffee can full of teeth |
|
Drop down in the swampblood |
|
Drop down in the blood |
|
I'm washed in the swampblood |
|
I'm washed in the blood, yeah |
|
Down Doom's Chapel Road, past his great grandma |
|
She says, turn 'em loose or I'll call the law |
|
He says, there's no testimony without the test |
|
What we do with our own is our own damn business |
|
Drop down in the swampblood |
|
Drop down in the blood |
|
I'm washed in the swampblood |
|
I'm washed in the blood |
|
Drop down in the swampblood |
|
Drop down in the blood |
|
I'm washed in the swampblood |
|
I'm washed in the blood |
