Newspaper People - Instruments Of Death
When I'm walking all alone stoned and far from home the newspaper people roam the night headlights blinding cutting through the night don't talk to them out of the fear run if newspaper people come near hell awakes 3 am the newspaper people rise again babies feet wrapped up in print the moon reflects off the hatchet glint they meet in groups around a truck picking up opinions and promises of luck lottery numbers despair and hate fantasy woman that you wish to fuck and DEATH!!!!! newspaper people rise again the evil spreads at 3 AM run from them run from them run from them RUN HOME!