| White night gown walking into dark waters
|
| And most likely fell from above
|
| Sends a shiver through every last drop
|
| Of my half-breed blood
|
| Beyond a shadow of a doubt
|
| There’s still a shadow of a proud man swinging (swinging)
|
| From a midnight pine
|
| Masquarade mingle through the market
|
| Knowing that this ain’t my skin
|
| Look back at the ashes of my footsteps
|
| March with men, shackle the sin
|
| Beyond a shadow of a doubt
|
| Still the shadow of a proud man swinging (swinging)
|
| From a midnight pine
|
| Sent a shiver through every last drop
|
| Of my half-breed blood, every last drop
|
| Of my half-breed blood
|
| Child’s face pressed up to the glass
|
| Fixed and hungry for what he ain’t got
|
| Begs till he gets the Indian leg bone
|
| From the souvenir shop
|
| Beyond a shadow of a doubt
|
| Still the shadow of a proud man swinging (swinging)
|
| From a midnight pine
|
| Standing at the mouth of scorched red rivers
|
| Eyes rolled back, shookish as some
|
| Palms to the sky, roots to the sycamore tree
|
| Roped to the branch where she hung
|
| Beyond a shadow of a doubt
|
| Still the shadow of a proud man swinging (swinging)
|
| From a midnight pine
|
| Sends a shiver through every last drop
|
| Of my half-breed blood, every last drop
|
| Every last drop
|
| Of my every last drop of my- |