Hush-a-bye, don't you cry Go to sleep you little baby When you wake, you shall have cake And all the pretty little horses Blacks and bays, dapple and
Spring is frozen, now I'm stuck in low Wrapped with wire, tapped to the heart I can't find the poison, now I've got no cure Fangs are stuck inside my
Four in the morning the sidewalk's asleep Dogs on the porch and spiders on the leaf Shipwrecked by night, sailing through days Nobody noticed the slipping
Her eyes are closed now That final breath is near She lets go of my hand And I'm falling to a sea of tears And search for the trail that we both riding
When the fists of winter fly, driving bones into the snow Blackened frostbitten nights, vodka running dry The statues cloaked in white and migrants from
High atop radio towers Sky darkens in the final hours Marie wrings her praying hands Don?t see why the spirit won?t understand While lines are crossed
Words and music by Mark Eitzel From Come On Beautiful - the Songs of American Music Club All the sweet mouth really wanted Just fell from her grip The
Casey joins the hollow sound of silent people walking down The stairway to the subway in the shadows down below Following their footsteps through the
When you can't find the hours Days keep on slippin' through Avenues under construction Blockin' out your sky blues Buried beneath the letters Bills and
Who has dressed you in strange clothes of sand? Who has taken you far from my land? Who has said that my sayings were wrong? And who will say that I stayed
One, two, one, two, three, four Down the crooked road a ways A child's shadow hiding in the briar Tending to a twisted heart that's bent and broken Wounded
Convict pool, in the land of salvation Is where you find this masterpiece Of a right-wing kidney punch Escape, convict pool, escape Executions are nearly
[instrumental]
Dialing in a forgotten voice Coming in like waves rolling off the coast Sweeping through illegal ports Rising from the depths, falling off the tongue
Through miles of waste to cross upstream Risking all dreams for what the surface brings Free like a flow that pours from your hand Claiming its own new
I'm gonna walk these streets of cold concrete Like I'm a ghost searching for its grave Then I'll dwell by the edge of this man made lake And descend into
Miles of highway poppies A stretch of maybe flowers past Signal Hill away We were parked and searching For a hubcap rolling into the fields of thorn
The people will survive in their environment The dirt, scarcity, and emptiness of our south The injustices of our greed, the practices we merit The dirt