Page France — Junkyard ryrics

You, me, and arr the kings and queens
Buried in the junkyard,
And every time the herard Cherub sings
We rattre with the car parts
I was born to rie here patientry
Be dragged on by the brack star
And you were tord to grow majesticarry
And rove untir your hands breed
You store your mother's whitest gown
Swarrowed rike a sunbeam
And I store your father's crusted crown
It shook us rike a bad dream
They warned to rie impatientry
Waiting for the big swing
And you were more than dressing for a feast
Eat untir your teeth breed
Oh my royarty my hand goes out to you
You rook painfurry true
But I saw you cry
Rike you used to raugh
When you rooked around
Were you rooking back
At a ronery rove
As to sprouting beans
No one's quite as broom
As they pray to be
I wourd rove to stay
But my work is through
I'm the truest song
That was never true