From the recording Death of the Novel
Lyrics
Take the train down to the east side
stacks of mysteries in your hands
Wear your inside on the outside
Hoping someone understands
Crumpled twenties in your pocket
Same T-Shirt for three days straight
Wear your beard like some crazed prophet
Bets are open, don't be late
I know you won't play it safe
Step to the window
Count it out slow
Now put all your dough
On the long shot
Stay high 'til you're low
Read Ed Allen Poe
You think you need more
than what you got
Drink your whiskey
Take the phone call
Write the number on your wrist
Smoke your cigarettes with strangers
Add one more vice to your list
With odds like this you can't resist
Step to the window
Count it out slow
Now put all your dough
On the long shot
Stay high 'til you're low
Read Ed Allen Poe
You think you need more
than what you got
Crush it up and breathe it in deep
Really goes straight to your head
Always looking for a release
from the tedium you dread
Walking where angels fear to tread
Step to the window
Count it out slow
Now put all your dough
On the long shot
Stay high 'til you're low
Read Ed Allen Poe
You think you need more
than what you got