I love to ruin my tent, I love the romances From the bag of angels a sawn-off broken wing They're drinking whiskey, they're getting high They cast the shadows and the passing of the summer sky The passing of the summer sky The King is dead, the well is dry The well is dry She's shooting broken arrows, she's shooting crooked smiles All along that wicked bench from the belly of a swine She's pouring whiskey, she's getting high Too scared to see herself, reflections of the devil's eyes Reflections of the devil's eyes The King is dead, the well is dry The well is dry The need may be your twisted needs It may be you're crave To rest my head on souls of fire