it's written in Braille
She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks
she hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god
so she names the baby Elvis
to make up for the royalty he lacked
And from then on it was turpentine and patches
from then on it was cold Campbell's from the can
They were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play
And it was raining cats and dogs out side of her window
And she knew they were destined to become
sacred road kill on the way
And she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking
thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes
Now it's turpentine and patches
Now it's cold, cold Campbell's from the can
They were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play
Elvis never could carry a tune
she thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon
she was tracing the years with her fingers on her skin
saying why don't I begin again
with turpentine and patches
with cold Campbell's from the can
after all I'm still a jerk playing with matches
it's just that he's not around to play along
I'm still an ass hole playing with matches
Blowing out my wishes blowing out my dreams
Just sitting here and trying to decipher
what's written in Braille upon my skin...
she hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god
so she names the baby Elvis
to make up for the royalty he lacked
And from then on it was turpentine and patches
from then on it was cold Campbell's from the can
They were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play
And it was raining cats and dogs out side of her window
And she knew they were destined to become
sacred road kill on the way
And she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking
thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes
Now it's turpentine and patches
Now it's cold, cold Campbell's from the can
They were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play
Elvis never could carry a tune
she thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon
she was tracing the years with her fingers on her skin
saying why don't I begin again
with turpentine and patches
with cold Campbell's from the can
after all I'm still a jerk playing with matches
it's just that he's not around to play along
I'm still an ass hole playing with matches
Blowing out my wishes blowing out my dreams
Just sitting here and trying to decipher
what's written in Braille upon my skin...
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