The Trade

he drew a queen she drew a king
he wouldn't fold she wouldn't win
and even though it was too late
he couldn't picture his own fate

a starry sky embraced his empathy
a blinding daylight in the dead of the night
an indescribable delight

the time was right to make a trade,
to take no prisoners in a mutual raid

sanity drowning in drains,
paintings in rusted frames
they played their parts in the oldest of games

they played with fire, desire, and lust for the prize
with the odds of one truth against a thousand lies
stuck in the middle, in a masquerade of maybes and pain, lost all in vain

they had to tear it all apart, fuck up their best shot
anger and tears was all they got
believed in nothing, lost everything...



that was the story of a trade, some broken hearts and all the cards laid
sanity drowned in drains, paintings left with no frames
an even score in the oldest of games

Highway Vagabond

The past behind, freedom ahead
the road can be a cozy bed
a tripping nutcase, a dog without a bone
a fearsome highway vagabond

an outcast of heaven, through the gates of hell
dealt with the devil just to bluff a dead man's hand
into the darkest nights, under burgundy skies
exposed to bitterness like a clown with no disguise


the past behind, freedom ahead
the road's a harsh and cruel bed
Another nutcase, a dog without a bone
another highway vagabond

One became two, drinking in a bar
and secret pacts were made beneath a falling star
two became one and fled, before the night was dead
no destination, just some memories to be shed

past lives behind, freedom ahead
and now the road's a softer bed
a pair of wayfarers and a scent of cheap perfume
could never fit inside a living room
some out there still believe in dreams and magic wands
runaways, fools and vagabonds