((badlands heathers))



a windy dusty king of the mountain
scrabbles over a dusty fountain
rattles the keys of petrified bone
begs the water and hurries home
observes the stately stroke of nine
(everybody steps in time)
flinches when the crow-man screams
"CROW!!"
from out the crow-man dreams
a hundred years in blackened rock
measured out by cactus-clock...
a hundred years and i'll be gone



i will miss you when i'm gone

i will miss me when you're gone.






nate has a rock
jeff has a plant
sally has a gun



i never meant to be the king
i never meant to be the king
i never meant to be the king

I always thought I'd hate the king.

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