The tortured howls of a motel ghost
And the worship songs of a well-worn throat
All cradle me as I waste alone
On a fool's gold throne
With my troubles all in tow

It's $86 upfront for the key
Tack on another hundred for the company
It's on my dime, but she holds me tight
We fuck all night
For a moment I'm alright

Home is where I ought to be
Out in the gentle country breeze with my family

But cold in a casket I lie
Bare knuckle boxing polished wood and I've grown so tired
I've grown so tired

The rounders shine their sawtooth grins
With every page I burn for them
Still I sign myself away to grieve
Through bloodstained sleeves
In the ashes of my needs

And I stand within a makeshift ring
Of follies, lies, and broken things
And I shout and howl and I cry and I sing
Counting blessings down
Crossing the X's of my doubts
Glory won't lay her hands on me
Oh how it used to break me down but I'm finding peace
Lord knows I cannot look back now
So I try and swallow pride but it's awful going down
It's so awful going down