Vārdi: Pavement. Watery, Domestic. Shoot The Singer.

Someone took in these pants
Somebody painted over paint
Painted wood
And where he stood, no one stands
It's been said he's sitting now
In the churning land

Well, I've seen saints, but remember
That I forgot to flag 'em down
When they passed and in the morning light
You hold that ashtray tight
You could put it out
But I can't put it out

My hands shook, down and out
I've got the blisters of the world
World new
I name the book after you

So look up and watch the camera lens
When the risers fade

Slow it down, song is sacred
And brother, you're a hunter and you're right at home
And in the morning light
I'll hold my ashtray tight
I could take it down
And you can't take it down

Don't expect, don't expect
Don't expect, don't expect
Don't expect, don't expect
Don't expect