Lashing out like a snakes tongue on fire
You're holding me tight with a rope
The newspaper man starts to line the wires
With headlines and frayed ends of coats
The barrel house floor starts to ferment
With sweat, spit, and stories never told
And I'm in the back getting my fortune read
The joker keeps getting pulled
And I got all four aces in my fingers
Bad luck will deliver
All four aces and I have to fold
If ruin is the destination towards which all men rush
I'm in the lead
The priest on the street whispers psalms to me
From his bible full of holes
And holy waters falling at my feet
From rainclouds being formed by angels
Junkyards are piling with debris
And vagrants are searching for gold
The fountain of youth's spilling in the street
And now all the lost boys are old
And I got all four aces in my fingers
Bad luck will deliver
All four aces and I have to fold
If ruin is the destination towards which all men rush
I'm in the lead
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