You're clean as. A widow woman's washboard, son,. Stick it in the wind.. Put the mountains to your back. The great plains on your grille. Time to take a little spin..
Here we all are at the end of "the century of beauty lost".. We greedily ate what you gave us, the rest we tossed.. We've trapped all your rivers, paved every pass,.
Try to find the reference. It makes no difference to me.. Draw your own conclusions,. Add to my confusion if you please.. The time for concessions. And midnight confessions is long gone..
This street holds it's secrets like a cobra holds it's kill. This street minds it's business like a jailer minds his jail. That house there is haunted.
Caught in the vice of heaven and earth. he turned his life into a cell. imprisoned by the doubts which hound us all. and those desires which we all know so well.
Jesus, sweet Jesus if you're listening. Can you pass me to your pa?. I'm having a hard time understanding. Why he's so cruel and demanding with his love.
(Michael Timmins). . Mornings feel so damn sad these days. without the call of the 8: 15. That old familiar echo. has finally died away. leaving nothing but a chill.
Stars of our stars.. Dreams of my dreams.. You come to me. Singing " The Stars Of Our Stars".. . The stars of our stars. Came up the first day.. The moon did set..