Aces & Eights

This game of life poker is fatal
For its deuces, its jokers and kings
All puppets for playing like playthings
Hanging down from the puppeteer-man's strings

Though aces and eights maybe winning
For the virtuous and high-minded man
When Broke Nose Jack shot him in ambush
Even Wild Bill held a dead man's hand

I want to build an elevator straight up to heaven
'cause I'm living in the basement of life
It's the penthouse for me
No curbside delivery
And take an angel for my eternal wife

Yes, aces and eights may win you
The castles built solely on sand
But all in the end will chagrin you
Wild Bill held a dead man's hand

Through all the heartaches the gambler is prey to
The tells we all fail to behoove
All the flames and the shattering shakings:
We've the truth the foresakings prove.