Words

Sometime round midnight

I guess its sometime round midnight

As the crow files

As the ceiling fan goes round, and the

Insomnia comes down

Semis with the hammer down

Hit the bypass round the town

Reach the highway just outside and

Burn on by

 

Memories unshackled come and crawl around my mind

I need the Good Book

I need the Word to turn my gasoline to wine

 

I hold the key

Yeah, I hold the key to where I lie

I own the suitcase fulla snapshots by the door

I own the bottle by the bedside,

The boot-heels on the floor

I read the future in the coal that hangs forgotten in my fingers

And flares above my face for every scattered soul that hungers

In disconnected, never mattered places just like this

I own the wind outside,

Bashing, bashing on the motel sign

I need the Good Book

I need the Word to turn my gasoline to wine

 

And I could love just about anything

That paid me back in kind

I need the Good Book

I need the Word to turn my gasoline to wine