Regas-Mcdonald - Phantoms, or Waiting Out the Flood Lyrics

I'm a greasy utopian on the hunt
For a mouthy whipping boy on the lam
Is he a phantom?
The phantom is he you?
He tick, tick, ticks on the back of your neck
Like a guillotine wood 'til you're dripping down sweat
And the whole room stick, stick, sticks
Kick, kick, kick me dearest, baby--
For I'm a dog due for licks aplenty
Let's make love and be merry
Make haste, get married
Build up our damn in helium-high reverie
And wait out the flood
Are you feeling up a phantom ol' boy?
Pressing shirts for a phantom ol' boy?

Shooting rye to the mouth of a phantom ol' boy?
Blowing holes in the mouth of a canyon ol' boy?
The phantom is he you?
Sing for me, St. Goretti
Comfort me in deep sleep with your lilies
And I'd kneel for you true as the day's long
Yes, weep for us, martyred Mary
For all beggars and prominent families
And spare us the lust for the son holding the gun
With an eye for father's blood
Oh, his blood
Oh, holy river, it's running high and rud
But can we wait out the flood?