| I in my longing lie out in the night
|
| Unveiled and irreverently dressed
|
| I’m lip-stuck and liquored up Picking a fight
|
| I’m the wicked wicked witch of the west
|
| Over the alley ways, backward and blind
|
| And the sad and insatiable sprawl
|
| Over the market place darkly defined
|
| His desert is sounding a call
|
| He was a businessman twenty five years
|
| When the angel appeared with his orders
|
| I am making you mine, my divine volunteer
|
| And I’m flying you over the border
|
| And he can’t recall where it all fell apart
|
| Was it north of Medina or south
|
| Where the prophecy ends and the politics start
|
| Where the weapon went into his mouth
|
| And everyone’s sleeping
|
| And he’s flying
|
| Out
|
| And no one can keep him
|
| Down
|
| Now
|
| The morning delivers the news to my door
|
| Of my president’s war in the east
|
| And he doesn’t tell me and I don’t know
|
| Who’s in the belly and who is the beast
|
| When there’s no place to run to When there’s no place to hide
|
| It won’t matter whose side you are on Like a bomb in the basement
|
| We couldn’t stop if we tried
|
| And it won’t be long
|
| It won’t be long
|
| It won’t be long |