The swagger vets Yes, they pull flowers too And a voice cassette of road diary Beautiful vets drag your knuckles down And don't need every TV Just a bottle and a woman Faithful as gold Or cold food Your family perfume Never touched the ceiling Or slapped your roman nose The lines of the face are desert roads I slide down Emerald St. like a double moon A tipping veteran who has combed hair And saw a fateful air god eat cloud food The swagger vets they come Pension waive Pens in your arm I'll leave you to you now Leave armys to the ants You can be your own Master of martingale Sometimes it's all to slow I slide down Emerald St. like a double moon While every murder has a dance to do