Lyrics

Down to the Betting Store I guess on this, I guess for more The lid was heavy on the penny jar Right now The hand that slept was the hand that hurt The conversing was the one that licked All points knowing they counted A point was made, a point became A stupid dot on a single page But in the garden on an even night The voice was weak but the feeling was right [Piano solo] Third page no conclusion made I heard the chatter on the street or was it rage Maybe that's the call of thе shots Or fight oneself to find what one has got