| She has them tombstone teeth
|
| And a stare so warm it could melt the snow
|
| Skin as dark as the river bank
|
| Hair pulled back tight like a violin bow
|
| She loves the sound of rain
|
| Cause she says it makes her feel just like a child
|
| She goes out walking in her sleep
|
| Every night the wind starts blowing wild
|
| Then round and round my bed it goes
|
| She’s dancing with the tornado again
|
| She digs the rhythm,
|
| She digs the feel of all that debris frying round
|
| Spinning in a nightmare slumber till she falls back down to the ground
|
| I bought her … and a knitting needle
|
| I bought her soft white …
|
| But none of that made any difference,
|
| Well, really how can it compare
|
| Then you want to hear that sound
|
| When my bed is spinning round
|
| You wanna hear that sound
|
| When my bed is spinning round and round
|
| She hits the ground
|
| When though by night she may seem peculiar
|
| When would not know it by the day
|
| She keeps to herself at town meetings with never a bad word to say
|
| So when last month she gave me a totem
|
| Took me by surWrise
|
| There must be something in the water cause she got that same strange look in
|
| her eyes
|
| Now round and round my bed it goes
|
| Where she’s going we all know
|
| She’s dancing with the tornado again
|
| Then you wanna hear that sound
|
| As my bed is spinning round
|
| You wanna hear that sound
|
| As my bed is spinning round and round
|
| She hits the ground
|
| She hits the ground
|
| She hits the ground
|
| She hits the ground |