Great Days Are Becoming
A Matchlight Liquor Establishment
Where The Factory Soaks Its Scabs
It Hangs There Like Insectrocutioner
Over The Big River
Scum Of Us Rinsed By A Hard Rain
The Tar, The Teeth & The Gear
Yet No Trail
All Around The Camp
And That Is Our Game
To Brag And Complain
To Guess Who Goes Next
To Tally The Scars
Learn Every Weakness