I love to ruin my tent, I love the romances    From the bag of angels a sawn-off broken wing    They're drinking whiskey, they're getting high    They cast the shadows and the passing of the summer sky       The passing of the summer sky    The King is dead, the well is dry    The well is dry       She's shooting broken arrows, she's shooting crooked smiles    All along that wicked bench from the belly of a swine    She's pouring whiskey, she's getting high    Too scared to see herself, reflections of the devil's eyes       Reflections of the devil's eyes    The King is dead, the well is dry    The well is dry       The need may be your twisted needs    It may be you're crave    To rest my head on souls of fire    Sight the swarm I kiss my eyes