In the Black Hills,
it's so familiar now.
Familiar like NPR in the afternoons.
It's never too much, 'cause you still may never know
the salt on the sidewalks or wether my feet will find me in quicksand erosion,or concrete.
These are the questions that rush through my brain
on another, but different, sunny day
in the Black Hills.
I will meet your mother today.
I won't be so sure what to do with my hands
and I'm never quite so sure where I come from,
or what my daddy does.
When whiskey isn't speaking from your sweet lips,we still believe in me.
These are the questions that rush through my brain
on another, but different, sunny day
in them Black Hills.
I'm so scared of my hands.
I'm so scared of those voices on the afternoon radio,
and i'm so scared of what my hands are gonna do.
I'm so scared to leave Black Hills.