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Looking for a street where the wind don't blow |
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You pull your collar up, bottle up and go |
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Keep your conscience clear of an envious bag |
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You know I hate to hear it when you say that it's a drag |
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Please give me shelter from the rumbling storm |
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I'm out here on the street, can't find no peace at home |
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A microphone to help the old singer carry on |
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A tangled web is spun in the haunted house of song |
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Out of a window, a horn would beck and call |
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Every true believer doubting Thomas and Saint Paul |
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Saying please give us shelter from the coming storm |
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There not listening on the street, can't find no peace at home, oh, no |
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Nosy Nostradamus puts himself in every place |
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An architect of ruins with a smile upon his face |
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Can't say nothing till formless words appear |
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The crowd begins to sing, and their voice is fairly clear |
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Please give us shelter from the rumbling storm |
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There's nothing on the street, can't find no peace at home, oh, no |
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You can look for a street where the wind don't blow |
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Or turn your collar up |
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Bottle up and go |
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You can look for a street where the wind don't blow |
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Or pull your collar up |
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Bottle up and go |
