There's a county bumpkin driving amongst the tarmac of the road
I'm as drunk as my father way back in the day I'm warned
That family heading south as this maniac on drugs and alchol
Philosophers stone that brings me back and it's going to collide ful on.
Twisted crash that only your lord can entangle
That wicked depth of your neck that's stretched amongst its angle
Your fucking dead and it's all my fault
I can't even absolve myself with a pinch of blood and a dash of salt
This drunken piece of shit and dreams of cuddles lasting in trials of dreams
A piss full nappy I wish to escape from in the puddle of a narrow street of screams
There's only so many fucking lines you can scribe at least I'm honest
The end of this feathered quil. The end of my fucking promise
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