The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
The Walkabouts
Heat lightning crashin' on the mesa
Paints a crooked line
Already told this story
But you didn't listen the first time
And though I'll tell it all again
I know you'll stop me
Before the end
The Burnpile grows
From the kindling
Of our souls
You could never fathom
That this emptiness won't let you be
It's wrapped tight around you
Like the branches of a mesquite tree
In this country of the dead
Brazen hunger still gets fed
Nowhere, no more, no nothin'
No way, no how, nobody
No chance, no fool worth his salt
Nowhere, no more, no nothin'
No how, no rhyme, no reason
No good can rise out of it
Nowhere, no more, no nothin'
No good can rise out of it
Came across the Jackal's path
He just kept runnin'
Did not look back
Clandestinos they are out there
Spinnin' donuts in the gravel field
They won't go down quiet
That was never part of their deal
A scorpion closed in by flame
Stings himself to death
Simple and plain