I am the big, black wolf, down at the tar pit lounge
Under layers of dusk, we can dance and rust
So push the lever down, and open wide
You know, Baccus stole my lighter, there on the other side
If I ever start to grin, drinking down the bloody soil
Let me know
The air is made of booze, it has a suffocating charme
At my house
I know she likes a drink, at the tar pit lounge
Just another shot of nails, nice to feel it go down
She takes all of her absinth, out of a monkey’s paw
She’s the queen of the rave, and the mother of moths
If I ever start to drink, without feeling anything
Let me know
Will the dead still cheer me on, when there’s nothing to consume
At my house
The rats are carved in stone, at the tar pit lounge
They nibble and they naw, at the frozen ground
The moon is breathing ash, laughing without sound
His children have no purpose, we are dumb and loud
If I ever call you up, without burning all my clothes
Let me know
There’s dirt and there is fire in the collapsing lung
Of my house
Down at the tarpit lounge…
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