Nomads

Carry me back into the sand Into the sand with the flowers and the ferns Old Mr. Centipede climbing tobacco leaves Looking for livers and hearts for to eat Cold and gray clouds staining the sounds Straining the weight of a sorrowful sky Wool on the trees, dust on the eves The bark on the pines is worse than its bite All of the lines have been lies this far There is a feeling I must keep from you The hills of nomads, we envy their lives A picture we love, Hills Have Eyes This old motel song you dig when you're stoned But sounds like a cheap shot when you're sober and cold But if you are as stoned as a ghost in the snow Your eyes will be blue flames These lines are crawling snakes up your open legs You wear them pale and fine This is the line I'll give you true as the dawn While the furious eye on the sun is upon us The way that your breasts dance while we're making love Now that is a line penned by a divinely guided hand Tailwind carry the birds to the coast To watch the clouds roll along Pollen and pitch whisper the scripture of kings In a tongue only spoken by ghosts Tailwind carry the birds to the coast To watch the clouds roll along Pollen and pitch whisper the scripture of kings In a tongue only spoken by ghosts Tailwind carry the birds to the coast To watch the clouds roll along Pollen and pitch whisper the scripture of kings In a tongue only spoken by ghosts