Saturday Night - Peter Wolf Crier

Labored on your subject moans

Damn I never once claimed all that you stole

Poor in heart and rich in sin

Desperate for your drink and stripped of my kin

When the summer rain was all she wrote

The lord’s pity tears don’t fall no more

So if you’d be so kind not to writhe

I’ll claim all you owe

Your empty sight is all I hold

Hands cupped from drought i approach your throne

Cause my queen you mean that much to me

I swear I’ll be swift upon your throat

When the summer rain was all she wrote

The lord’s pity tears don’t fall no more

So if you’d be so kind not to writhe

I’ll claim all that I’m owed

I’ll claim all that I owe

I’ll claim all that I’m owed