Zakk Wylde

i'm on a b-road heading for the sea

to see if hands across the ocean

shake or wave

(see if hands across the ocean

shake or wave)

through the whiplash of the windscreen wipers

i can see for miles

but all i do is watch the time

(i can see for miles

but all i see's the driver's hands)



he harbours thoughts on personal grief

i said your hardship's

only one of a fleet

that didn't go down well



listen son, if you'd spent

your life in the last lane

you would have an accent to grind

punch-drunk on patriotism

blind-drunk on borderism

maybe i should drive



and while you're castaway

the mice'll play

they'll have a licence

to dull those left back home

what about those poor souls?



listen son, if you'd spent

your life in the last lane

you would have an accent to grind

punch-drunk on patriotism

blind-drunk on borderism

maybe i should drive



and as i jumped to these conclusions

he thumped his feet on the brakes

but we still hit a songwriter

trudging through the rain



scrambled out and watched him

rest in pieces

said a prayer and rifled

through his pockets

and the side of his mouth

still had something to say

at the toss of a coin

i end up head in the dirt

and tail in the air

and yet you can dance away



but be it friend or hard-up-man

fellow or kin

when your chips are down

they're down for good