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Someone took in these pants |
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Somebody painted over paint |
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Painted wood |
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And where he stood, no one stands |
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It's been said he's sitting now |
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in the churning land |
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Well, I've seen saints, but remember |
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That I forgot to flag 'em down |
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When they passed and in the morning tight |
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You hold that ashtray tight |
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You could put it out |
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But I can't put it out |
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My hands shook, down and out |
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I've got the blisters of the world |
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World new |
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I name the book after you |
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So look up and watch the camera lens |
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When the risers fade |
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Slow it down, song is sacred |
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And brother, you're a hunter and you're right at |
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home |
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And in the morning light |
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I'll hold my ashtray tight |
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I could take it down |
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And you can't take it down |
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Don't expect, don't expect |
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Don't expect, don't expect |
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Don't expect, don't expect |
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Don't expect |
