67 Blackout

Put the knife under the flame

You won't feel any pain

Hold this teacloth in your mouth

67 blackout

Dead donkey in the snow

Down by where the ferns grow

Saw it's spirit leaving south

67 blackout

We went out on the tear

And we danced the carpets bare

When I drenched the mid week doubt

67 blackout

My nerves they got shot

I deserved what I got

A left hook in a bout

67 blackout

I taped the microphone to the chair

And sang through the speaker

Down the cables I did shout

67 blackout

There's a tape of you talking

Buried in an attic somewhere

I asked down the main street for it

No one knows a thing about it

For a poultice we'll soak some bread

Then we'll carry you to bed

With or without

67 blackout