The pure eyed country honey
Speaks of the lost low-grade golden age
The stairwell cigarette smoke r
Exhales in the space of his outcast face
And the pay phone corner talker, she smiles
With a cut so pure and wild
You used to know her in the eyes of the street lights
As the cool, over the shoulder witness of the night
Baby, here I am
Now, here I am
A folk terrorist without a sound
With a white trash waste land to shout about
With an antique voice to break it down
And to scream out about the future burn out
The lost eyed Willie Nelson
Gets up and puts his digital boots on
Speaking with this 6 AM glam dresser
She tells the secrets of how she puts her groove on
Know what she told me?
Saying my sweet baby
I'll loose my mind, lose my mind
There's many many reasons
Why I just wasn't made for these times
Just like some modern billboard baby
Saying I dig what you told me about the other side, but could you save me? (save me!)
Some post-ironic lady
On the wire of some sad fire
So fierce andso crazy
And the speech making man is so fried
As he obsessively checks his mic
The talking black cat to the fire chief he writes
As the suburbs ignite
Baby, here I am
Now, here I am
A folk terrorist without a sound
With a white trash waste land to shout about
With an antique voice to break it down
And to scream out about the future burn out
I said baby
I will lose my mind lose, my mind
There's many many reasons
Why I just wasn't made for these times
For these times
For these times
Oh baby for these times