a switchblade in those eyes
It opens like a big surprise
Oh, the lightning hits the blade
And left behind an old woodpile
Oh, the embers of the blaze
Oh, the dead man's spirit raised
It's dangerous as a stock car race
Pennyroyal nor money tree
They will not bring you back to me
Widows love the falling rain
They watch and wait for skies of grey
Oh, the tempest, oh, the storm
Keeps those widows safe and warm
There's a thicket that I know
Hang that rose around my throat
It's dangerous as a stock car race,
Pausinous as queen and slaves,
Pennyroyal nor money tree,
They will not bring you back to me.
No, not the cutting arms of
Nor the dead man's spirit rays
Nor the widows in their storms
Nor the leather roses' thorns
No, pennyroyal nor money tree
They will not bring you back to me
4.9
