You're a drifter, a sort of drunken shape-shifter
A street slick word peddler
The dancing man with hands like flames
Or, so it appears
When you peddle your wares
A black-eye-liner lady on your left
Dressed up as a witch from Macbeth
Or maybe she was, she was, she was
Man, I think she was
Happier before you turned her into a lying, crying, cheap substitute for love
You call yourself a gangster, that makes you a prankster
A ragamuffin gambler or some such bluffing thing
The kind of man honest folks curse
But you praise
As you walk around town in a daze
Threatening silence with a bloody blade
Chicken sh** business
But as they say, screwed-up is
What screwed-up does
You turned a good girl into a lying, crying, cheap substitute for love
It's okay, so you took my girl
She was born in a garden
Her parents named her God's Pearl
No, I'm not upset
Though I haven't woken yet
To the justice that might suit the crime
Or an emotion that might
Rein in the night
Or bring that bright day back to us
Until then I watch the room spin and cuss
In the arms of another one of the devil's stupid charms
Just a lying, crying, law defying, a damned shamed faced sighing, high flying, sorry excuse for true love