She was lying on the floor, counting stretchmarks,
she hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god,
so she named the baby Elvis,
to make up for the royalty he lacked and,
from them on it was turpentine and patches,
it was cold cold Campbell's from the can,
and they were just two jerks,
playing with matches,
cause that's all they knew how to, play,
it was raining cats and dogs outside of her window,
and she knew they were destined to become sacred roadkill on the way,
and she was listening to the sound of heaven shaking,
thinkin about puddles, puddles and mistakes,
Cause it's been turpentine and patches,
It's been cold, cold Campbell's from the can,
And 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 her years with her fingers on her skin,
saying why don't I begin again,
with turpentine and patches,
with cold, 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 a**hole playing with candles,
Blowing out wishes, blowing out dreams,
Just sitting here and trying to decipher,
what's, what's written in Braille upon my skin...
