In this town some years back,

or maybe last week,
 or both.

Somebody killed ,
‘bout 14 ,
and her sis,

the small one, 
bleedin’ heart of this old damn city.

He walks, the father, through the grey streets..
..each lamp burns a slow confession.

The city is a mouth, swallowing every sound.

There were eight of us, yeah,
all round that

maybe it was my mug 
lookin’ too long into the lens,
dead stare, no blink.

Who wanna know the truth,

no one got the stones,
‘cept her old man,

lost deep in the gutter’s hum.

He walks again, slow through the soaked alleys.

The rain writes no letters, 
He feels his breath, ….borrowed time,

his steps…coins in an empty well.

Court day,,

pissin’ rain,
judge lookin’ half-asleep,
sentence come down soft,

like a blind hand searchin’ for reason.

He ask me, “What’s your alibi, son?

”
If you was elsewhere, you don’t rot in the box ,,

not for a while, anyway.

I said nothin’,
but a river of lies ran from me,
cold and sweet like gin in the dark.

We strangled at them sisters, 
weeks of gettin' battered’, killed,

so yeah,

I said nothin’,
but a river of lies ran from me,
cold and sweet like gin in the dark.

...a flood of lies rolled on.

The father stops beneath a lamp.
In its trembling light, his shadow bends,
He dreams of their voices..

of streets that end before they begin.

(Instrumental Interlude)

All eight of my …. swore the same ,,

we was playin’ pool,

just hangin’,
just wastin’ the hours
 we never owned.

.......

no one got the stones,
 ‘cept her old man,

lost deep in the gutter’s hum.