|
No regrets |
|
Coyote We just come from such different sets of circumstance |
|
I'm up all night in the studios |
|
And you're up early on your ranch |
|
You'll be brushing out a brood mare's tail |
|
While the sun is ascending |
|
And I'll just be getting home with my reel to reel |
|
There's no comprehending |
|
Just how close to the bone and the skin and the eyes |
|
And the lips you can get |
|
And still feel so alone |
|
And still feel related |
|
Like stations in some relay |
|
You're not a hit and run driver no no |
|
Racing away |
|
You just picked up a hitcher |
|
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway |
|
We saw a farmhouse burning down |
|
In the middle of nowhere |
|
In the middle of the night |
|
And we rolled right past that tragedy |
|
Till we pulled into some road house lights |
|
Where a local band was playing |
|
Locals were up kicking and shaking on the floor |
|
And the next thing |
|
I know That coyote's at my door |
|
He pins me in a corner and he won't take no |
|
He drags me out on the dance floor |
|
And we're dancing close and slow |
|
Now he's got a woman at home |
|
He's got another woman down the hall |
|
He seems to want me anyway |
|
Why'd you have to get so drunk |
|
And lead me on that way? |
|
You just picked up a hitcher |
|
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway |
|
I looked a coyote right in the face |
|
On the road to |
|
Baljennie near my old home town |
|
He went running through the whisker wheat |
|
Chasing some prize down |
|
And a hawk was playing with him |
|
Coyote was jumping straight up and making passes |
|
He had those same eyes just like yours |
|
Under your dark glasses |
|
Privately probing the public rooms |
|
And peeking through keyholes in numbered doors |
|
Where the players lick their wounds |
|
And take their temporary lovers |
|
And their pills and powders to get them through this passion play |
|
No regrets |
|
Coyote I just get off up aways |
|
You just picked up a hitcher |
|
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway |
|
Coyote's in the coffee shop |
|
He's staring a hole in his scrambled eggs |
|
He picks up my scent on his fingers |
|
While he's watching the waitresses' legs |
|
He's too far from the |
|
Bay of Funday |
|
From appaloosas and eagles and tides |
|
And the air conditioned cubicles |
|
And the carbon ribbon rides |
|
Are spelling it out so clear |
|
Either he's going to have to stand and fight |
|
Or take off out of here |
|
I tried to run away myself |
|
To run away and wrestle with my ego |
|
And with this flame |
|
You put here in this |
|
Eskimo In this hitcher |
|
In this prisoner |
|
Of the fine white lines |
|
Of the white lines on the free free way |
