Howlin Rain
Nomads
Carry me back into the sandInto the sand with the flowers and the fernOld Mr. Centipede climbing tobacco leavesLooking for livers and hearts for to eatCold and grey clouds staining the soundsStraining the weight of a sorrowful skyWool on the trees, dust on the evesThe bark on the pines is worse than its biteAll of the lines have been lies this far, there is a feeling I must keep from youThe hills of nomads, we envy their livesApicture we love; Hills Have EyesThis old motel song you dig when you're stonedBut sounds like a cheap shot when you're sober and coldBut if you are as stoned as a ghost in the snow, your eyes will be blue flamesThese lines are crawling snakes up your open legsYou wear them pale and fineThis is the line I'll give you true as the dawnWhile the furious eye on the sun is upon usThe way your breasts dance while we're making loveNow that is a line penned by... a divinely guided handTailwind carry the birds to the coast to watch the clouds roll alongPollen and pitch whisper the scripture of kings in a tongue only spoken by ghosts
From Letras Mania