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I was having visions of sugar pastry |
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Cooked up in clarified butter |
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I tried to turn my visions into prayers |
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But I built my castle way high up in the air |
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Yeah, I came to the gates of the fabled pink city |
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Hungry and tired and cold |
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Swing low, sweet chariot |
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Chrome tailpipe shining bright as spun gold |
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My brothers picked me up out of the rushes |
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Handed me into the company of evil men |
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But I've inched my way down the eastern seaboard |
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I am coming to Atlanta again |
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Yeah, I came to the gates of the fabled pink city |
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Hungry and tired and mad as all hell |
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Swing low, sweet jewel-encrusted chariot |
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Make me young again, make me well |
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I am the killer dressed in pilgrim's clothing |
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I'm the hard-to-find stations on the AM band |
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I am the white sky high over Tripoli |
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I am the land mine hidden in the sand |
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Yeah, I came to the gates of the fabled pink city |
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Hungry and tired and alone |
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Swing low, sweet, sweet chariot |
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Coming forth to carry me home |
