This is the tale of lonely Harold Blood
who lived his life as quietly as he could
he was a businessman, soft drinks were his trade
he manufactured cut-price lemonade
His suit was rust. his sins were lust,
bad drugs cheap booze and cigarettes
at least he listed those as his regrets
He drove around from town to town
with thirteen identical suits
he kept a loaded gun locked in the boot
of his family estate, missing the family of late
he never really liked them anyway
And after twenty years of idle driving
talking and selling when business was thriving
he drove out to his favourite little spot
a Welcome Break parking lot
took the metal from the case and fired one solitary shot
it echoed round, sound ricocheted then stopped
Lonely Harold Blood was found on Monday with the gun clasped in his hand
identified and burned away to sand
they searched his car, found the missing girl inside,
it was a shame he'd taken out her eyes
what a surprise, clichés exchanged
the quiet ones always turn out deranged
lonely Harold Blood was never any good
supported by 6 fans who also own “Lonely Harold Blood”
In a more perfect world, this band would blaring out of every radio on Earth. The lyrics, the vocals, the just-outta-teens snark and earnestness... so much to love. paulimboden
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