|
Elder Green is dead and gone |
|
Lost his way going to town |
|
Don't know who he is or what he's done |
|
But it sure sounds sweet rolling off the tongue |
|
Yeah it sure sounds sweet rolling off the tongue |
|
If I was in an old hotel |
|
That happened to be on fire |
|
Maybe I'd jump or |
|
Maybe I'd reconsider |
|
Then I'd climb a little higher |
|
Like an oily rag |
|
In a dusty corner |
|
Like a box of matches near an open flame |
|
I'd jump 18 stories from a burning fire |
|
Sooner than |
|
I'd face this world of shame |
|
Yeah I'd skip this town and |
|
Jump a westbound train |
|
Take these fingerlings from my fingers |
|
Spoken with your breath |
|
With white-washed eyes |
|
And flies that linger |
|
Seems rather forlorn and bereft |
|
I said where you goin' with that sack on your shoulder |
|
Willie As if |
|
I couldn't have guessed |
|
He says I'm gonna get the hell |
|
Out of Slag |
|
Valley and take a little stroll way out west |
|
If I was in an old hotel |
|
That happened to be on fire |
|
Maybe I'd jump or |
|
Maybe I'd reconsider |
|
Then I'd climb a little higher |
|
Like an oily rag |
|
In a dusty corner |
|
Like a box of matches near an open flame |
|
I'd get so far away |
|
From that old matchbox hotel |
|
Man I'd skip this town and |
|
Jump a westbound train |
|
Anything to get away from this shame |
|
Take these fingerlings from my fingers |
|
Spoken with your breath |
|
With white-washed eyes |
|
And flies that linger |
|
Seems rather forlorn and bereft |
|
I said where you goin' with that sack on your shoulder |
|
Willie As if |
|
I couldn't have guessed |
|
He says I'm gonna get the hell |
|
Out of Slag |
|
Valley and take a little stroll way out west |
