Mat d. and the Profane Saints: Music

she was long...she was tall...she was twisted
like a fuse from a coal miner's dream
with a crucifix stuck to her cleavage
at the helm of some diesel machine
found the love of her life in that motor
you could trace out her past on the tires
of the last junkyard hauler left standing
til the Arkansas plates had expired

she was hot as bootlegger's kettle
and she'd whistle and scream through the night
down a highway the Lord had forgotten
purified from the abscence of light
tied a big ball and chain around her ankle
turned her cold as the bare kitchen floor
got to sleeping alone on the front porch
couldn't can't lay in that bed anymore

she was flesh... she was blood... she was lonely.
spilling out of a new cocktail dress
with her big hair all pinned up and perfect
and her Tammy Faye make-up a mess
she could light up the room like a train wreck
busting out on a hot afternoon
but she rode out of town back in '90
just to die in a non-smoking room

she was long...she was tall...she was twisted
like a fuse from a gold miner's dream
with a crucifix stuck to her cleavage
at the helm of some diesel machine