The White Knuckle Express Lyrics - The Fatima Mansions

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This truck stop: rancid gravy
A man with no hands waving
and the dog 'round my leg bumps and grinds
It rains for miles outside there
on mud and tar and still air
and the fungus-lined gap between stinking towns

Pork-Eyes got him a brand new hand to hold
He's gonna grasp you
He won't ask you
and he'll tell you it's your fault

CHORUS:
The cup runneth over, it's yours to bless
on the white-knuckle express

She is a grey snake, I cannot see her face
She slides across me
I am wearing a collar and a tie

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We're tuneful, cute and giving
See, that's how we make our living
In a hall filled with corpses, we'd smile and bounce on
Some say it's aimless bullshit
but they come from big houses and budgets
and, although I don't look it, I'm getting really fucking old

Pork-Eyes, in the presence of a sweet young girl:
He's gonna spill you, it better thrill you,
or he'll rip this place apart
Pork-Eyes! We're going up! Feet-first, feet-first!
and the legend on that girl's thigh reads "Love = Hurt = Hate"--CHORUS

Pork-Eyes, he will stroke your long hair tenderly in all the waterfront bars
where the wine and hollow talk-of-men will muffle things that really, really are
and you'll go back to your room with him on your healthy sandalled feet
to come out minutes later, bleeding, torn above, torn underneath...






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------ Performed by The Fatima Mansions

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------ 08/02/2014

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