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She carries the water from the well in the morning |
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While the sand burns her feet the sun only stares |
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And the loneliness lingers with slow grasping fingers |
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As the afternoon withers the flowers in her hair |
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Then night fills the sky as she sits on the hillside |
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And memories drift by like clouds past the stars |
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Recalling romances and all the bright chances |
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But none of them lasted. they passed through her heart |
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And she says - |
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Where is a man who can build a good fire |
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With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon |
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A man whose hand is strong as his longing |
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Where is the man who can lasso the moon |
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She falls asleep and her dreams are her blanket |
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And she shares with the moon the secret she knows |
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As the dawn leaves its tears to wash the dry valley |
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The tears of a woman can wash a man's soul |
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And she says - |
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Where is a man who can build a good fire |
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With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon |
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A man whose hand is strong as his longing |
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Where is the man who can lasso the moon |
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And she says - |
|
Where is a man who can build a good fire |
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With a passion as wide as the sky at high noon |
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A man whose hand is strong as his longing |
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Where is the man who can lasso the moon |
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And i say - |
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I am a man who can build a good fire |
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And my passion's as wide as the sky at high noon |
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Come take my hand, it's as strong as your longing |
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Just say the word and i'll lasso the moon |
