Mark Lanegan Bombed

Love there are flowers hanging in the vine

So high you cannot see

Now my mind must go on holiday, torn from it’s hook, a broken valentine

I see the smoke from a revolver, will I get hit, I hardly care

When I’m bombed I stretch like bubblegum

And look too long straight at the morning sun

Love there are flowers along the avenue, all things perfectly in place

I build a shrine

I set a monument

Because you’re fire

Because you’re a fire escape