Well I've seen leaves of mesquite,
Walk upon the creek
As moccassins sun their blood on trunks for the night to come...
And I've seen buzzards on the breeze, circle above me
A certain wound they do wish would break a nearly broken heart...
Eyes of glass,
A hummingbird flies past
Telling me that the way behind is the way ahead
Slowly on the way,
Nothing seems to change
Slowly on the way,
Things begin to change
On Highway 17...
