| My eyes are hazy. |
| My spirit’s weak
|
| I can run with the best of 'em
|
| But my legs have gone to sleep
|
| Switch on the bright lights. |
| Turn on this town
|
| Tell the Ledger-Star the prodigal son-of-a-bitch is comin' round
|
| Leave my blue suede shoes by the door
|
| Break 'em in and then ask forgiveness
|
| Come Sunday morn
|
| All these floorboards are barely worn
|
| Break 'em in and then ask forgiveness
|
| Come Sunday morn
|
| I woke this mornin' a ball full of rage
|
| A heart full of burnin' fire was beatin' on its cage
|
| Mom has gone to heaven. |
| Dad is fairly well
|
| Sister’s got her hands too full
|
| And I’ve gone all to hell
|
| Leave my blue suede shoes by the door
|
| Break 'em in and then ask forgiveness
|
| Come Sunday morn
|
| All these floorboards are barely worn
|
| Break 'em in and then ask forgiveness
|
| Come Sunday morn
|
| Dance with me until the boiling fever’s sweated out
|
| Until the pales of grief run bottomless
|
| On the flames that brought the drought
|
| Switch on the bright lights. |
| Turn on this town
|
| Run me through 'til I turn to powder
|
| And dash me on the ground
|
| Leave my blue suede shoes by the door
|
| Break 'em in and then ask forgiveness
|
| Come Sunday morn
|
| All these floorboards are barely worn
|
| Break 'em in and then ask forgiveness
|
| Come Sunday morn |