Dead Flowers, Bottles, Bluegrass and Bones - Swingin Utters

The first time I met you

was up on the hill

with tequilla on Tuesday

and roses in well

You gave me a kiss

As strong as the winds

That swirl through the lots

of China basin

I stood and I stared

At the brass of St. Mary

Where the beggers

are more likely wishing then praying

Heard the gamblers

Rushing the gates of bay meadows

or was it the beating

Of hearts in the ghettos

Give me your heart

and take my ring, love

Give me your heart

And break this string, love

I’ve plenty of room

for improvement, you see

and many a fool

Fake this thing called love

I stood and I stared

at the cemetary stones

Dead flowers, bottles,

Bluegrass and bones

Smelled the signs of the mourner

the shit from the dogs

the rains and the tears

in the interment bogs

So I strolled through the day

until boredom was dawn

with the gulls

in the garbage singing along

where the boats in the harbor

have nothing to say

about the fish and the shit

that float in the bay

If I see you again

It will be up on the hill

with tequilla on Tuesday

and roaches to kill

We’ll be crying and drunk

or laughing and stones

For Dead Flowers, Bottles,

Bluegrass and bones