A brown horse, with golden-brown mane
manic pressure on your veins
so strong a need - a needle so thin
it's calling you, it's cold, the enemy within
And I just feel as cold as ice
sharp as a blade, mute as a child
I feel so bad when I see you ride
that sick little brown line from that sad white bag

And when I see your face on dope
these times I know there was no hope
you hold the needle like a shining sword
and nothing matters anymore

You're wearing dead white skin
No face just dead white skin
dead lips, so dead-white clean
please, stop it, stop it, sister morphine

you can kill yourself if you want
but you won't be the only one
to fall back from the dead brown horse
I'll follow you - fix and rejoice !

And I just feel as cold as ice
mute as a blade, sharp as a child
I feel so bad when I see you ride
that sick brown horse in that sad white bag
that sad little white bag
that sad little brown line
sick sad bag back
we all fall down from the horse's back

And when I see your face on dope
these times I know there was no hope
you hold the needle like a shining sword
and nothing matters anymore

you can kill yourself if you want
but you won't be the only one
to fall back from the dead brown horse
I'll follow you - fix and rejoice !

you can kill yourself if you want
but you won't be the only one
to fall back from the dead brown horse
I'll follow you - fix and rejoice !

See also:
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