| She sings of apple trees and blossoms
|
| And she called me from Dallas Love Field
|
| As the winter storm warning went on taunting me
|
| When we met we were two bright eyed alcoholics
|
| In the spring time of the year of our lord
|
| As we glanced the gilded edges of our identities
|
| Whatever the way
|
| Of the lover’s lot
|
| Black as the kettle’s the hypocrite pot
|
| Often than more, more often than not
|
| So come here baby
|
| In the dark and out
|
| Ridin' our bikes to the dive bar at the edge of town
|
| Was it some shrill and false persona
|
| That was leadin' me around?
|
| Well my right hand offended me
|
| But the left hand was waving free
|
| Till it knocked me out
|
| Did it? |
| Did it? |
| Did it? |
| Did it?
|
| Did it? |
| Did it? |
| Did it? |
| Did it?
|
| Crossed the street from the bar to the cathedral and we heard Vespers sung by
|
| the choir
|
| And in ghostly vestments we waltzed down the aisle
|
| To be honest babe, I never saw you comin' no
|
| Though I did believe the world to be a starry dome
|
| Did it, did it, did it, I
|
| So maybe we take the longer way
|
| To a cosmic home, a place to stay
|
| Spinning lanterns in a field until the end of days
|
| Whatever the way
|
| Of the lover’s lot
|
| Black as the kettle’s the hypocrite pot
|
| Often than more, more often than not
|
| So come here baby
|
| In the darkening hour
|
| Ridin' our bikes to the dive bar at the edge of town
|
| Was it some shrill and false persona
|
| That was leadin' me around?
|
| Well my right hand offended me
|
| But the left hand was waving free
|
| Till it knocked me out
|
| Did it? |
| Did it? |
| Did it? |
| Did it?
|
| Did it? |
| Did it? |
| Did it? |
| Did it?
|
| Well my right hand offended me
|
| So I bent down on bended knee
|
| And I cut it off
|
| Did I? |
| Did I? |
| Did I?
|
| Did I? |
| Did I? |
| Did I? |