text: Broken down relations, beaten up guitars
  Making one last appearance in a heap of old cars
  Brambles and weeds flourishing amongst
  Lines of empty bottles and rambling drunks
  Junkyard blues sound familiar
  Im never alone
  Always remind me of home
  One of a dozen covered with stains
  Blistered and stinking was all that remained
  Cannibalised machines, mysterious bones
  Unwanted contents of anonymous homes
  Mangy old dog scratching in the dust
  Burned out Mercedes surrendering to rust
  All this stuff was good for something
  But here it is now, good for nothing