No, I don't want your sympathy
Fugitives say that the streets aren't for dreaming now
Manslaughter dragnets and the ghosts that sell memories
They want a piece of the action anyhow; You can ask any sailor
and the keys from the jailer
And the old men in wheelchairs know
That Matilda's the defendant,
she killed about a hundred
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda
You'll go a waltzing Matilda with me; And it's a battered old suitcase
to a hotel someplace
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on
An old shirt that is stained with
blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers
The night watchman flame keepers
and goodnight, Matilda too; -Tom Waits
