The Last Parade on Ann St
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The last parade on N Street, babe
Was when the frost leaves sounded like glass
When we burnt down the whole damn block
With a wink and just one match
Well, the Sartre is odd in now
It's new grove but same old ghost
But I owe to the one before
'Cause it's the one that stained my voice
But the last one, yeah, the last one
Was to burn us out
Was to burn us out
Was to burn us out, out
Was to burn us out, out, out, out, out
But the last one, yeah, the last one
Was to burn us out
Was to burn us out
Was to burn us out
Was to burn us out