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I been speaking later and later in the day |
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Most days I don't talk 'til maybe 8 o'clock at night |
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It keeps me whole |
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It keeps me holy |
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It keeps me way up in the mountains even when I'm on the road |
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It keeps me coming up for air |
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Keeps me airing out some come |
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It keeps me cool |
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And everyplace I go is one less place I could call home |
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And every girl I kiss, well I just cross her off my list |
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I don't go far |
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I just go crazy |
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I buried all of my old clothes out in some field in West Des Moines |
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And if you judge me tonight |
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Judge me by the songs I write |
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That's who I am to you |
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And there's a Black Tornado |
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Black Tornado |
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Spinning around in my body sometimes |
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Black Tornado |
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Black Tornado |
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Spinning around in my body sometimes |
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And I could do tonight with something soft and warm and furry |
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But that ain't likely to occur in southcentral Missouri |
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It's a day off |
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It's an off-day |
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It's a Budweiser, Budgetel, Bukowski kind of night |
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All I got's what's on my back |
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Guitar and a backpack |
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My soul is intact |
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And there's a Black Tornado. . . . |
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And everything is changing faster than I can describe |
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All I really know to do is grab the wheel and drive |
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I look for love |
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And some adventure |
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And I try not to let my own breathing scare me off the road |
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There is a tombstone |
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Of my father I visit sometimes |
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And there's a Black Tornado. . . . |
