Ben Weasel and His Iron String Quartet

In A Bad Place

Ben Weasel and His Iron String Quartet

These Ones Are Bitter


In a bad place. In a sick frame of mind. In a bad way and you're no friend of mine. Started counting when she first saw the lightning flash. It's a sad thing, like a bitter little laugh. In a bad place she watched the sun rise again. It's a bad break but we all have our cross to bear.
That night she lost count long before the thunder crashed. It's a sad thing, like a bitter little laugh. Scars never fade; there just isn't time enough. Oh I'm so lonesome now; so broken I've had enough. I pray for a sign of love. I wait for a sign. How can the sun be so cold?

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