no one looks in this place for motive or any hope but for the dead shot of an amber glass the blue light of a votive the rain obscured the window as the pain was dulled by the grains absolved in spoons and flames in fear in time dissolving it s not for the faint of pulse or anybody false those amateurs who only shed their skin so where are those traitors now we once called patriots just like those saints who seem to revel in their sins o my eyes were filled with tears that were stinging after our assassin s work was done but hands and bells are only there for the wringing as we were bringing bullets for the new born king the trumpet sounds lamenting trampling down the blooms of the deceased the double agent girl and the fallen priest were heading for the border somewhere at the high command there stayed the palest hand that saw the order countermand erased a tape recorder and then they hung him from a window cord swallow down that voodoo vial to still your breath a while before we spill this tale that has been spun and so i shall now confide all that i once denied oh i m so sorry for the things i ve done 
['art rock', 'folk', 'folk rock', 'mellow gold', 'new wave pop', 'permanent wave', 'power pop', 'pub rock', 'rock', 'roots rock', 'singer-songwriter']