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Amplifiers & old guitars |
|
Country music sung in bars |
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& when she sings the revolution's near |
|
Beauty holds the microphone |
|
& watches as we stumble home |
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& she can see the revolution now |
|
Dirt & fish & trees & houses |
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Smoke & hands up women's blouses |
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Not like I expected it would be |
|
Bubbles pop in every size |
|
It's analyzed & criticized |
|
& beauty knows that it is almost here |
|
Beauty goes to her address |
|
She shuts the door and climbs the stairs |
|
& when she sleeps the revolution grows |
|
Beauty rests on mattress strings |
|
Wearing just her underthings |
|
& when she wakes the revolution's here |
|
& when she wakes the revolution's here |
