| I’m on a higher plateau
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| Dry dirt trail on this mountain road
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| Vultures over head then I’m counting the Crows
|
| Alfred Hitchcock cowboy
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| Arms folded in a B-Boy pose
|
| (Verse 1 — Jehst)
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| Lawrence of Arabia, off-key behaviour
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| Mickey Mouse soldier, sand storm fantasia
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| High on Peyote
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| High on the plains like Wile E Coyote
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| The guy with the goatee and kaftan
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| Smoking the Afghan, blocks of Moroccan hash
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| Send me to the Sandman
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| Think with keen imagery, psychedelic symmetry
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| God’s the composer, life is the symphony
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| The song of the desert, of the desert trail
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| Canteen dry, I’m desperately frail
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| Plus thirsty as hell
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| Trek against the wind, beating on my face
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| Sandpaper on my skin
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| A gang of masked riders
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| Figures rippling on the horizon
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| Pitching tents for the night
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| Campfire lighting
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| Nocturnal, got the moonshine pouring
|
| Back on our journey first thing in the morning
|
| I’m on a higher plateau
|
| Dry dirt trail on this mountain road
|
| Vultures over head then I’m counting the Crows
|
| Alfred Hitchcock cowboy
|
| Arms folded in a B-Boy pose
|
| There’s black gold underfoot, lucrative land
|
| Bring a bucket and a spade, build a castle in the sand
|
| A child on a beach, bite from a peach
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| Protect what’s mine so I might have to reach
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| Heat beating down on the brow of the pilgrim
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| Announcing that Elvis has now left the building
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| Camel back rider, saddlebag cider
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| Hostile habitat, snake bite survivor
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| Billycans clattering, carrying a keg of beer
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| Wind beating against the fabric of my jellabiya
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| Chest pressed against the unseen forth
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| The nomad from the badlands of the north
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| The ghost of Jim Morrison guiding my course
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| Brave new world and I’m opening the doors of perception
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| Tangled up in this spaghetti western
|
| Desert storm war, Military intervention
|
| I’m on a higher plateau
|
| Dry dirt trail on this mountain road
|
| Vultures over head then I’m counting the Crows
|
| Alfred Hitchcock cowboy
|
| Arms folded in a B-Boy pose |