|
She was the rose of sharon from paradise lost |
|
From the city of seven hills near the place of the cross |
|
I was playing a show in miami in the theater of divine comedy |
|
Told about jesus, told about the rain |
|
She told me about the jungle where her brothers were slain |
|
By a man who danced on the roof of the embassy |
|
Was she a child or a woman, I can't say which |
|
From one to another she could to easily switch |
|
We went into the wall to where the long arm of the law could not reach |
|
Could I been used and played as a pawn? |
|
It certainly was possible as the gay night wore on |
|
Where men bathed in perfume and celebrated free speech |
|
And them caribbean winds still blow from nassau to mexico |
|
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire |
|
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free |
|
Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire |
|
She looked into my soul through the clothes that I wore |
|
She said, "we got a mutual friend over by the door |
|
And you know he's got our best interest in mind." |
|
He was well connected but her heart was a snare |
|
And she had left him to die in there |
|
There were payments due and he was a little behind |
|
The cry of the peacock, flies buzz my head |
|
Ceiling fan broken, there's a heat in my bed |
|
Street band playing "nearer my God to thee." |
|
We met at the steeple where the mission bells ring |
|
She said, "i know what you're thinking, but there ain't a thing |
|
You can do about it, so let us just agree to agree." |
|
And them caribbean winds still blow from nassau to mexico |
|
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire |
|
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free |
|
Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire |
|
Atlantic city by the cold grey sea |
|
I hear a voice crying, "daddy," I always think it's for me |
|
But it's only the silence in the buttermilk hills that call |
|
Every new messenger brings evil report |
|
'Bout armies on the march and time that is short |
|
And famines and earthquakes and hatred written upon walls |
|
Would I have married her? I don't know, I suppose |
|
She had bells in her braids and they hung to her toes |
|
But I kept hearing my name and I had to be movin' on |
|
I saw screws break loose, saw the devil pound tin |
|
I saw a house in the country being torn from within |
|
I heard my ancestors calling from the land far beyond |
|
And them caribbean winds still blow from nassau to mexico |
|
Fanning the flames in the furnace of desire |
|
And them distant ships of liberty on them iron waves so bold and free |
|
Bringing everything that's near to me nearer to the fire |
