| Cold wind it blows
|
| Blowing through like Sunday morning
|
| Chills my bones, take me home, take me home
|
| Home is where the heart is
|
| But my heart’s been truly stolen
|
| Cold wind it blows, wind it blows
|
| Fire in my gut
|
| Reminding me that yes I’m in a
|
| Great big rut, great big hole, great big hole
|
| No one knows, can tell me
|
| Where those chains begin
|
| Fire in my gut, in my gut, in my gut
|
| There are places you will never go
|
| And there are things that you will never know
|
| It all depends on which side of the road
|
| Hole in my soul
|
| Makes me feel like I am floating
|
| Far from my place, I got no land, I got no face
|
| Tell me Mr
|
| What’s a man supposed to believe in?
|
| Hole in my soul, in my soul, in my soul
|
| Gun in my hand
|
| You’re telling me that I’m meant to obey
|
| Laws of your land, of your land, of your land
|
| But you don’t follow rules
|
| Of the silly games you play
|
| So gun in my hand, in my hand, in my hand |