Story Behind The Song

Busted face looked out of Gambian jail at stripes on the full moon. Ten dollars in the hole, drunk at one of those roadside religious conversion stands.

Song Description

It is a fandango of busted teeth.

Lyrics

Stone blind martyrs under rats' alley moon as the train clatters by overhead
Drunk as an earl in the cold winter wind while you walk on the bones of the dead
Someone's singing the Internationale but the pubs are all closed for the night
You can't go home for they'll turn you away, so you stagger and you spoil for a fight

You better hope no one's watching over you
You better pray that your dreams don't come true

Down by the mission where the soup's never warm, she is playing on a small clarinet
Her bags are all packed, she's got somewhere to go, but she hasn't found the way there yet
A cheap little ring, it slipped from her finger and it fell through a crack in the street
Now the camera clicks and her smile's rather fixed, but she's off, she's got someone to meet

Even my crystal ball's got the blues
You better pray that your dreams don't come true

You better hope your guardian angel fell asleep
If your lucky that water's cold and deep

You try to slumber to the rumble of the trucks and a clothesline that snaps in the wind
Wash your face in the gutter, and try to beg a quarter from a man with sores on his skin
Gas or a pistol or a frayed old rope, the method doesn't matter to you now
They'll have sold your possessions and starved your dog by the time you get back into town

You better hope no one's watching over you
You better pray that your dreams don't come true