Alba s touto skladbou:
Drill A Hole In That Substrate And Tell Me What You See,
Sunday I am young and wild, Monday I go lame. Tuesday I start twitching, Wednesday I'm insane. Thursday I lay dying,
Friday I'm quite dead. Saturday I get carried away by things better left unsaid. But heaven ain't no place, brother, and
love ain't no word sister. And prison ain't no building made of iron bars and stone. You can seek the rhyme and reason,
but in the realm of the unknown you won't catch no true reflections in that "Alabama Chrome." For there's mountains you
will scale with ease, yet molehills where you stumble. Sins you so regret and yet other sins that you enjoy. Harps can beg
forgiveness, and the guitars can scream pain, but the contradictions are larger than any language can explain. For in the
secret territory where the preachers come to steal the jewel of your heart, for they have no treasure of their own, there
lies a sacred window, in your hand the perfect stone. You'd throw it, but you arms are bound 'round with that "Alabama
Chrome." The heat it is withering, humidity smothering. Strip of silver tape, a sly lie covering dent in the side of the
redneck ride. Going deep for the Crimson Tide. Yeah! Gonna bump to the thump of the Selma slammer. Wanna jump up and down
like a wack jackhammer. Sing a little 'Sweet Home Alabama' - Jimmy gimme wink like a big flimflammer. Bone tired and so
weary of treating truth as a lie, I been hunkered down in the bunker of some fools alibi. Squint harder you will see the
slim tether of the saints. It's whipping wild in the hurricane of all that is and all that ain't. 'Cause there's angels in
the shed mother and spiders in the bed brother and ghosts inside my head father, no I am not alone. My mind is teeth
without a mouth, my thoughts are marrow without bone. My eyes are blinded by a thousand layers of that god damn "Alabama
Chrome."
