7's and 9's Songtext
von Thrift Store Cowboys

A million different places
For the mind to go
A charcoal filtered felon
With nothing up these sleeves
But cigarette smoke
Though not repressive
It was the only bed made with demands
But now my vengeance is cold dead fingers
Around warm dead hands
Loving passion fury
Love in a hurry
Underneath our covers


There just ain′t enough rain left
To wash the lives of these two lovers
Mid-morning daydream leaves their heads
In a distant land
But now my vengeance is cold dead fingers
Around warm dead hands
Writing this all down
Angry pen to a nervous paper
There just aren't enough lines left
To prove how much these words must hate her
It was the only bed made with demands
But now my vengeance is cold dead fingers around warm dead hands