Say Anything Follow

Staring out the window of our tour bus*
And it's just the horny driver and us.
We sit and trade wit and smoke and we cuss,
Talking about our friendly border drug bust.
And I know the future's cloudy and grey.
Record like mine, give up or go gay.
You're looking down at me with blue and black eyes,
Pissing down a storm from purple night skies.

And I know the concept's muddy and trite
That all that is large and all that is slight
Is flowing in the stream of holy floodlights.
At writing holy books, Lord knows we bite
But if this is your will and my testament,
I will bow to no belief that they bent.
Still I'm just a sperm begat from your love,
Basking in the bread, the blood of your dove.

Can I lie with you in your grave?

There's a crack in the edge of the end of the world
Where I will sit with my love in its fluorescent swirl.
Eat us up, break it down to the tiniest cell
In our room with a view and a window to hell
Where those who buried bodies in their barrels of fun
Will be marched through museums that displayed what they've done.
They'll be shot up through the sky by a cannon of sin
Where we'll reluctantly let them in.
So can I lie in your grave?