Žodžiai dainai: Tin Machine. Betty Wrong.

Till the sun blisters and sprays
And every lamb ceases to graze
When the kiss of the comb
Tears my face from the bone

I'll be your light
When the shadows fall down the wall
Then life will be done
And it just won't matter at all

I was carved from a hand
Nurtured on grime, goodwill and screams
Now your breath fills my step
Now there is you till life is gone

I'll roll your ball
Till the stars can't make me cry
Then life will be done
And it just won't matter at all

Not at all
When the kiss of the comb
Tears my face