Vigilantes of Love
Freight Train To Nowhere
Miss Misfortune sails down the rails with her brow to the windowpane
The scenery that she sees in her soul doesn’t match with the blur in her brain
Oh, she can trace the tricks of the tracks like the ribs of a rattlesnake
‘Til all her pastel chalk lines of fact are erased like a schoolgirl’s slate

She is reading her own tattoos
Her diary is the evening news
She can’t give a damn on cue
On a freight train to nowhere

Hey, if she were not scorching the rails with the haste of a bolting ghost there would be no reason to fear the death rattle in the engine’s throat
She could call for the mini-cams, or take up a gun, or be politically correct
But that kind of justice still preys on the ones with the stones hung around their necks

Oh, she’s reading her own tattoos
Her diary is the evening news
And she can’t give a damn on cue
On a freight train to nowhere

She’s heard it said, by the drone in her head, that the wages of spend is debt
She figures that’s better than nothing to show for the years of tears and sweat
If she could put her hand on the brake of the land, find the treason in the diesel and the smoke, she would jar the teeth of the dull and the meek and feed them the truth until they choke

She is reading her own tattoos
Her diary is the evening news
She can’t give a damn on cue
On a freight train to nowhere
She is reading her own tattoos
Her diary is the evening news
And she can’t give a damn on cue
On a freight train to nowhere