Widow City Songtext

It said the lion's come up from his thicket

And they've managed to void, "My lottery ticket.

Drunk on wormwood in Widow City,

Widow City's drunk on wormwood.



Tomorrow night when the sun sets at nine

I might need tangle myself with the

degenerate plant of a strange little vine.



And foxes on the mountain, girls!
There're foxes on the mountain, girls.

So to negotiate the deserts and pits

You can't rely on your dim wits."



Wag your head and clean your clocks;

Ready for the rendezvous with the sticks and the stocks.

Taught the wicked ones the ways,

said what was sent via the swift dromedary

traversing on the odd and even days.



Drunk on wormwood in Widow City,

Widow City's drunk on wormwood.



Tomorrow night when the sun sets at nine

I might need tangle myself with the

degenerate plant of a strange little vine.



They've made my chain even heavier--if you can imagine.