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lyrics

DRUM

They speak of worms, they speak in epitaphs.
They speak of me in foreign tongues.
I’m buying silver and black crosses made of string
to the sound of a threatening drum.

I’ve got my bullwhip, got my dynamite.
I’m feeling dangerous and numb.
I hope you live long enough to shake my buried hand
to the sound of a threatening drum.

Oh, drunk and heavy eyes. Sleepy and desiring eyes.
I crawl under this white hot sun.
Oh, I can’t get my fill. I’m spinning with the real quill
and the sound of a threatening drum.

I can’t drink the water so I drink the blood.
I’ve named my price and my poison.
On every corner is a weeping wooden saint
and the sound of a threatening drum.

I’m lonely as a distant train. Dirtier than passing change.
Spent and empty as a shotgun shell.
I’m angry and I’m running wild. Screaming like a hungry child.
I’ve earned my place in any christian Hell.

They speak of worms, they speak in epitaphs.
They speak of me in foreign tongues.
On every corner there’s a weeping wooden saint
and the sound of a threatening drum.

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jva Portland, Oregon

Hi. I’m Jim Walker
I make music.

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