A serpent's in the garden spitting out his tongue,   I'm paintin my depression with my green thumb,   your mother's telling stories about where she's from   you, your sleeping, passed out inside some kid's trunk.   The sun is rising, pouring over a bright new day.   If I was who you wanted could I get you to stay?      Oh No      I can't see out the window, this room's far too dark.   I locked myself up tight and called this torment art.   And God was looking down from his mighty white cloud,   So I channeled my opression for the big lying crowd.   I broke my fingers trying to grab your oversized heart,   You can leave this town,I'm looking for a fresh start.      Oh No      I boldly picked the roses from the run down yard.   I fought hell like moses in a church seminar,   I took a broom and swept up ever piece of my heart,   I threw it in the furniss and stole the dying car.   It dragged up sparks, tin cans on a thin white string;   I made a promise of devotion for the whole thing.         The Car Broke Down at the Bottom of the River Bed.