Cold fire tonight and head slow
Ironed eyes and lead to hide the gallows
The crowd's stoned out on
Bottles in the back and the red rope
Bottles in the back and the red rope
I shot him down
Two knocks at the door and he hit the ground
One last breath, well, I suppose
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
On broken strangers filled with blind hope
Perched the thing with feathers made of red smoke
As the sun bleeds down on
All the tangled rivers and the loaded guns
All the tangled rivers and the loaded guns
I shot him down
Two knocks at the door and he hit the ground
One last breath, well, I suppose
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
The sun goes black as the cello plays
The kind of cinematic swell that makes the critics say
"If only we had made
Something out of nothing for a quiet grave
Something out of nothing for a quiet grave"
I shot him down
Two knocks at the door and he hit the ground
One last breath, well, I suppose
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
And the beat goes
