Morbid Fanatic Songtext
von Rich Mattson and the Northstars

Thousands and thousands of poor excuses
Hundreds of trees talk of hangman′s nooses
Woven into our mortal fabric
She says she is a morbid fanatic
To dying the ground's got more space for bodies
Porsches and Sting-rays and Maseratis
Iron and rubber and plastic bone dust
Make up the outer edge of this earthly crust
Softness and hardness, the colors of light
Heavy and solid describe her at night


Left behind thoughts they swing from the branches
The ghosts do a dance in your sideways glances
Mayhem ensues despite all your planning
You misread your radar despite all it′s scanning
Nobody heard when the neighbor shot
A hole in the ceiling of his cemetery plot
Bastardized versions of what you invented
Roll down the streets all scratched up and dented
Cards on the table, the emperor's mistress
Means more to you than a full house or kisses