| Rushing 'til the dawn comes to paint the wheat fields gold
|
| Running out of time before the madness calls
|
| He’s got a ball and chain wrapped, and checks the lock three times
|
| Stepping over pavement cracks, he thinks the worst of all
|
| And his rolling eyes
|
| Capture crowded skies
|
| And the smell of age bounce off the page and onto canvas come alive
|
| How could such a giant troll begin to fly so high?
|
| With his tiny fairy wings and hair and long brown cloak
|
| He starts to chase me through the hedged maze at 90 miles an hour
|
| Hovering above the ground, we’re all so very tall
|
| And his big, round nose
|
| Smells the purple rose
|
| And the talking owls spread their wings open and encompass come alive
|
| Rushing 'til the dawn comes to paint the wheat fields gold
|
| Running out of time before the madness calls
|
| He’s got a ball and chain wrapped, and checks the lock three times
|
| Stepping over pavement cracks, he thinks the worst of all
|
| And his rolling eyes
|
| Capture crowded skies
|
| And the smell of age bounce off the page and onto canvas come alive
|
| Flying like a witch to somewhere; |
| think it’s Mexico
|
| I got a pair of black buckled shoes; |
| they lead me there
|
| And there’s a man who wants to sell me things; |
| he wears a sombrero
|
| Jumping back and forth in time and in and out of home
|
| And the dusty roads
|
| Fill my artist’s nose
|
| And the smell of sage evaporate enhancing senses come alive
|
| Rushing 'til the dawn comes to paint the wheat fields gold
|
| Running out of time before the madness calls
|
| He’s got a ball and chain wrapped, and checks the lock three times
|
| Rushing 'til the dawn… |