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• Artiste: Chris Letcher
• Titre: Bad Shepherd
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
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Stockholm night was leaking light when your father died. So you got on a boat, an old rusty bulker, salt tears in your eyes. Well that Arctic air's done you no good. You've got a black handgun not made out of wood (All broken things dream of repair). Athletic thighs and sleep-walled eyes and your hair Come out of the gloom come down from the top of the stairs Let the lights from the freeway flow across the wall A mind can get tired of all the pitfalls. What a terrible crash, I jumped up the stairs, With a heart so heavy and hands just spare. Now didn't your mother ever teach you not to stare? Let them stare, let them stare, you know I really don't care. Now all you good children you're jetsam on the earth, modern day lepers. Where are your flocks? There are the wolves. You're bad shepherds. Well the heart it is the devil's machine, and those hearts together like a bunch of bad dreams.