| I’m on the dark side of a hollow hill
|
| The sun comes up, babe, but it’s hard to get my fill
|
| Your blue serape, it fits my mood
|
| I’m through with Bibles and I’m through with food
|
| Somebody’s calling, trying to track me down
|
| And if I don’t answer, I can hang around
|
| As slide past lovers lost in the dark
|
| I look for high ground for to build an ark
|
| I can’t remember when I felt so free
|
| Maybe September, the year you believed in me
|
| In Nineteen hundred and ninety-nine
|
| When I found the angels a-drinking wine
|
| Seems every castle is made of sand
|
| The great destroyer sleeps in every man
|
| Here comes my baby, here comes my man
|
| With that silver dagger in his hand
|
| With that silver dagger in his hand |