| Jim Halfpenny | |
| "Pentagrams" | |
| She's got five sides. Man, I've seen everyone. And I gotta doig deep, real deep, To tell myself I'm not in love. Five sides. Like fingers on a boxer's hand, She canball herslef up just like a fist, And knock me on my ass. She better not come 'round again, Drawin' them pentagrams, Sittin' in her chair like Joan Of Arc. She's 'bout as reachable as Tokyo. And here I sit in Idaho, Waitin' for her to give off some kinda spark. To show me I'm not totally in the dark. She goes in five directions, Like the points on a pentagram. When I reach for haven in her eyes, I just see reflections of the fool I am. Given her five tries. One for every year I spent, Tyrin' to squeeze some blood out of that rock, That big cold rock of discontent. She better not come 'round again, Drawin' them pentagrams, Sittin' in her chair like Joan Of Arc. She's 'bout as reachable as Tokyo. And here I sit in Idaho, Waitin' for her to give off some kinda spark. To show me I'm not totally in the dark. |
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