She stepped down from her carriage,
|
At Ten Vermillon Street.
|
I took off my roustabout,
|
And slung it at her feet.
|
We went into her parlor,
|
And she cooled me with her fan,
|
But said, "I'll go no further,
|
With a fantasy-makin' man."
|
|
I said, "I'd walk on the Ponchatrain,
|
For what you have today."
|
Just a drink from your deep well,
|
And I'll be on my way.
|
She laughed and heaven filled the room.
|
Said, "This I give to you,
|
This body's wisdom is the flesh,
|
But here's a thing or two.
|
|
"Death and hell are never full.
|
And neither are the eyes of men.
|
Cats can fly from nine stories high.
|
And pigs can see the wind."
|
|
She let me make my pallet,
|
In the moonlight on the floor.
|
Just outside of paradise,
|
But right in hell's back door.
|
The image of her nibbled,
|
At the eye of my soul.
|
My dreams were a hurricane,
|
And quite out of control.
|
|
Then her voice came through the storm,
|
It's more than flesh I deal.
|
And you will have to pay,
|
For any wisdom that you steal
|
I woke to tinted windows,
|
In lavender and red.
|
The first station of the cross,
|
Is just above my head.
|
I awoke to gargoyles,
|
And a hard bench for my bed
|
Jesus Christ and Pontias Pilate,
|
Were just above my head.
|
|
Death and hell are never full.
|
And neither are the eyes of men.
|
Cats can fly from nine stories high.
|
And pigs can see the wind.
|
|
-----------------
|
Death And Hell
|
| The Highwaymen |
