From The Recordings Html
She’s a damsel in dire distress. She’s a Budweiser stain in a dress. He’s a daring young man on a kind-of trapeze; a hangman’s noose in the sky hangs another dead savior up high. S’pose it could not have happened to nicer a guy, or so they tell me. Who shall save her now? Fast as I can, I raise both my hands. She’ll be the stuff that my nightmares are made of, and I won’t wake up. Hide the knives ‘neath the couch or the bed. Hide the bat ‘case she bash in my head. I can tell by the drink and the stink on her breath that the shit has buried the fan. Baby rips me one wide as she can. So I grab me a pillow and sleep in the van, comfy cozy. Who shall save me now, and tear at the seams of my foolish dreams? ‘Cause this is the stuff that my nightmares are made of and I can’t wake up. Built my life on a landslide, sewed my nose to’er backside, chained my heart to a tickin’ bomb. 5,4,3,2… please, somebody save me now. I’m lost on the seas of a deadly disease. This is the stuff that my nightmares are made of and I can’t wake up.