He's a wounded animal
He lives in a matchbox
He's a wounded animal
And he's [bad word] around here

He's a dying breed
He's a dying breed

His daughter is twenty years of snow falling
She's twenty years of strangers looking into each other's eyes
She's twenty years of clean
She never [bad word] hated anyone or anything

She's a dying breed
She's a dying breed

She says:
I'd prefer the moss
I'd prefer the mouth
baby of the swamps
baby of the south
I'm twenty years of clean
And I never [bad word] hated anyone or anything
Twenty years of clean
Twenty years of clean

But I got to get me out of here
This place is full of dirty old men
And the navigators with their mappy maps
And moldy heads and [bad word] on sugarcubes

But I got to get me out of here
This place is full of dirty old men
And the navigators with their mappy maps
And moldy heads and [bad word] on sugarcuuuubes

While youuu
Stare at your booots
And the words float out like holograms
And the words float out like holograms
And the words float out like holograms
They say:
Feel the waltz
Feel the waltz [bad word] on, baby, baby, now feel the waltz
Feel the waltz
Feel the waltz [bad word] on, baby, baby, now feel the waltz

Oh
Oh, o-o-o-o-o-oh
Ohhhhhh, o-o-o-ohhh
Ohhhh