| Dead before the sun could rise
|
| I stole the silver off my lover’s eyes
|
| Rolled out on the dark demise
|
| Of midnight’s breaking day
|
| Born full grown and raised up wild
|
| All mortal bones and passions piled
|
| Upon my head the blessed child
|
| The father of the man
|
| I cut my hair and caught a train to Jackson
|
| I took a name and found the range
|
| Where a voice will make no sound
|
| I met a man he told me «Son,
|
| I can see you’re on the run,
|
| If you tell me where you’re going
|
| I’ll tell you where you’re bound»
|
| They put me off outside of town
|
| A cold black rain was falling down
|
| I lay my head on the red clay ground
|
| And slept for a thousand years
|
| I woke into a fever dream
|
| Where silence talked and money screamed
|
| And nothing was but only seemed
|
| And no one seemed to care
|
| I cut my teeth on the bread of pure temptation
|
| I tried it all and I learned to fall
|
| Like I would never hit the ground
|
| I met a ghost who looked like me
|
| I asked him, «Is it plain to see
|
| Or is it hidden?"
|
| But he never made a sound
|
| I was a lion in the circus ring
|
| A scarecrow dressed up like a king
|
| Innocent of anything
|
| Like love and going blind
|
| So I set all my clothes on fire
|
| Sold my soul to any buyer
|
| Wrapped my heart in concertina wire
|
| And showed it for a song
|
| I cut and run I ran until I stumbled
|
| I struck out alone a rolling stone
|
| Forty days came up and down
|
| I chased the river to the source
|
| I met a girl on a pale horse
|
| She pressed her fingers up against my lips
|
| And I fell down dead and gone |