The driver has no knife. He has no knife, no,
you think, and lower your head into his car.
A ride in the rain? The dark clouds bellow.
You saw him drinking at the local bar,
you think, and lower your head into his car.
Rain taps on the roof, falls on this familiar man:
You saw him drinking at the local bar.
He shrugs and offers up his empty hands.
Rain taps on the roof, falls on this familiar man,
and sugarcane stalks bend in the breeze.
He shrugs and offers up his empty hands.
As sewer pipes burst, flooding the street,
and sugarcane stalks bend in the breeze,
machetes swing into the green stems, low.
As sewer pipes burst, flooding the street,
bile is a blade at the back of your throat.
Machetes swing into the green stems, low.
A ride in the rain? The dark clouds bellow.
Bile is blade at the back of your throat.
The driver has no knife. He has no knife, no.