Broken Bacchanalian blisters,
It’s a long way back to the city,
Drunk on gin and valley heat,
And feeling fuckin’ shitty,
Looking back to Shangri-La,
It’s like a brothel on the border,
Steady hands can’t take a shot,
Clean up this disorder
And the ocean seems so far away,
Got to get back to my...,
Got to get back to my...,
The sun was burning down when I woke up yesterday,
Got to get back to my...,
Got to get back to my...
I had a dream three nights in a row,
It might not mean a thing,
I felt my face in an empty space,
And pulled out all my teeth,
Stranded in a Fresno truckstop,
Paying for ice in a glass,
Rednecks here don’t like my eyes or my face,
They’ll kick my ass
And the ocean seems so far away,
Got to get back to my...,
Got to get back to my...,
The sun was burning down when I woke up yesterday,
Got to get back to my...,
Got to get back to my...
