Fatima Mansions - The White Knuckle Express Lyrics
This truck stop: rancid gravyA man with no hands wavingAnd the dog round my leg bumps and grindsIt rains for miles out thereOn mud and tar and still airAnd the fungus-lined gap between stinking townsPork-eyes got him a brand new handHes gonna grasp youHe wont ask youAnd hell tell you its all your faultChorus:The cup runneth over, your jaws to blessOn the white-knuckle expressShe is [grace? ] *****, I cannot see her faceShe slides across meI am wearing a collar and a tieWere tuneful, cute and givingSee, thats how we make our livingIn a hall full of corpses, wed smile and bounce onSome say its aimless bullshitBut they come from big houses and budgetsAnd, although I dont look it, Im getting really *****ing oldPork-eyes, in the presence of a sweet young girl:Hes gonna spill you, it better thrill you,Or hell tear this place apartPork-eyes! were going up! feet-first, feet-first!And the legend on that girls thigh reads love = hurt = hate--chorusPork-eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront barsWhere the wine and hollow talk-of-men will muffle things that really, really areAnd youll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feetTo come out minutes later, bleeding, torn above, torn underneath...
