Lyrics

I work at the fireworks stand
In the lot on Kent
I lost my ring finger
In a domestic incident

Under the counter
I sleep by an old shotgun
A tattered awning
Blocks out the morning sun

I sell you small ordnance
Of all shape and size
Just light the fuse
And don't put out your eyes

My customers are men:
Fathers and sons and teens
Women don’t bother
They're few and far between

The solitude ain't bad
It's a welcome break
The thought of a woman
Makes my finger stump ache

The season is ending
Time to pack-up and go
I think I'll join
The carnival down the road