It’s about 3:35, and the last ones left alive
Are huddled ‘round imaginary fies.
The streets are such a mess,
And the host and the hostess
Have told us that we have to come inside,
But you stare at me,
Poison dripping from your lips saying.
“Jimmy, won’t you please tell me my name?
I can’t recall a thing that you’ve said.
Cos everybody here treats me the same.
I’m something for the pain.”
Now it’s about 3:44, and the jokes we made before
Are turning into stunning premonitions.
And all my prayers are done, and the bad guys on the run
Are haunting my apocalyptic visions.
But you stare at me,
Poison dripping from your eyes saying.
“Jimmy, won’t you please tell me my name?
I can’t recall a thing that you’ve said.
Cos everybody here treats me the same.
I’m something for the pain.”
You stare at me,
Poison dripping through your lungs saying...
“Jimmy, won’t you please tell me my name?
I can’t recall a thing that you’ve said.
Cos everybody here treats me the same.
I’m something for the pain.”
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