Lyrics:

I love to ruin my tent, I love the romances.
From the bag of angels a sawn-off broken wing,
they're drinking whiskey, they're getting high,
they cast the shadows and the passing of the summer sky.
The King is dead, the well is dry. Ow!
She's shooting broken arrows, she's shooting crooked smiles
all along that wicked bench from the belly of a swine.
She's pouring whiskey, she's getting high.
Too scared to see herself, reflections of the devil's eyes.
The King is dead, the well is dry. Ow!
The need may be your twisted needs,
it may be you're craving.
To rest my head on souls of fire,
a sight for sworn eyes
kiss my eyes ...
Dum, dum, dum, dum ...