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At night we crossed the border |
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Following a Black robe |
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To the edge of the reservationton |
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Cataldo Mission |
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Where the saints and all the martyrs |
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Look down on dying converts |
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What makes the water holy she says is that that it's the closest thing to rain |
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I stole a mule from Anthony |
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I helped Anne up upon it |
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And we rode to Coeur d'Alene |
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Through Harrison and Wallace |
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They were blasting out the tunnels |
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Making way for the light of learning |
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When Jesus comes a'calling she said he's coming round the mountain on a train |
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It's my home-last night I dreamt that I grew wings |
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I found a place where they could hear me when I sing |
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We floated on to Hanford |
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On a lumber boat up river |
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Past the fisheries and the milltowns like a stretch of future graveyards |
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She was driven to distraction |
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Said I wonder what will happen |
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When they find out they're mistaken |
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The land is too changed to ever change |
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We waded through the marketplace |
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Someone's ship had come in |
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There was silver and begonias |
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Dynamite and cattle |
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There were hearts as big as apples |
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And apples in the shape of Mary's heart |
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I said inside this gilded cage a songbird always looks so plain |
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It's my home-last night I dreamt that I grew wings |
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I found a place where they could hear me when I sing. |
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And so they came with cameras |
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Breaking through the morning mist |
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Press and businessmen-tycoons-Episcopal philanthropists |
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Lost in their appraisal of the body of a woman |
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But all we saw were lowlands |
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Clouds clung to mountains without strings |
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And at last we saw some people... |
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And at last we saw some people... |
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And at last we saw some people |
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Huddled up against |
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The rain that was descending like railroad spikes and hammers |
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They were headed for the border |
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Walking and then running |
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And then they were gone into the fog but Anne said |
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Underneath their jackets she saw wings |
