I'm going back to New Orleans. Ain't turning my back on this world of tears. With a head that's heavy and a heart that's sore. Gonna swing my hammer, gonna stop this war.
This is not a conquering, I am not conquered. Even as the helicopters come for me. My wife sleeps in her clothes in the corner. I'm looking down at the police on the street.
You taste like wine, battle smoke, something crying. Blue, like oxygen, coming in and out again. Good god I want you, run hide and I? ll hunt you. Tracing your mouth like clouds across the sun.