well the fog's rollin' thick in the trees
|
and the fire burns deep in the hole
|
my conscience a wound with no salve
|
it betrays me wherever I go
|
|
said the best way a man can go down
|
is to die with his face to the street
|
and you guessed that the
|
way I'd go down
|
like a gambler who rolls off to sleep
|
|
but that night on the mountain,
|
I staged my own death
|
left my clothes scattered far
|
down the trail
|
and I dreamed of your neck,
|
your raven-haired crown
|
with no trace, I jumped over the rail
|
|
Move along, cannot stay
|
The Stoppin'-off place
|
Move along, cannot stay
|
The Stoppin'-off place
|
|
plain clothes knows nothin' bout me
|
and plain clothes knows
|
nothin' bout you
|
he'll call off the chase in a snap
|
he'll give up the chase if you ask
|
|
and I promised to you, that I'd
|
see my way clear
|
and I'd come back to get
|
you someday
|
with silver for teeth and blood
|
in my hair
|
I'd come back and get you someday
|
|
Move along, cannot stay
|
The Stoppin'-off place
|
Move along, cannot stay
|
The Stoppin'-off place
|
|
Move along, cannot stay
|
The Stoppin'-off place
|
Move along, cannot stay
|
The Stoppin'-off place
|
|
-----------------
|
The Stopping-Off Place
|
| The Walkabouts |
