Cold Chisel
Dresden
The morning breeze is off and gone
the winding factory streets are clean.
Old ladies put the kettle on,
and all-night lechers pause and lean on
grey shop windows everywhere
a deeper hum is in the air.
A hotel room, a drifter leaves no clues.
He rides the freight train out of town
and whistles at the icy rime
the cattle float like thistle-downs
and God is on the edge of time
Somewhere behind a siren wails
the freight train soars above the rails
The Traveler, he's as hard as nails
as the train sweeps down the line
The salmon season's here to stay
and etched into each shoulder bone
The Mark of Cain is on display
as stone above measured stone.
Old Dresden burns above the breeze
The Traveler is on his knees
He's watching sledge-wings dip and play
so far above the holy throne.
Dresden Blues
From Letras Mania