|
By townes van zandt |
|
When the bandits have stolen your jewelry and gone |
|
And your crippled young gypsy, he's grown tall and strong |
|
And your dead misconceptions have proven you wrong |
|
Well then, princess, where you plannin' to turn to? |
|
When your magazine memory has spun you around |
|
And you realize your lovers were just painted clowns |
|
And outside your window you start hearing sounds |
|
Where they're building a cross for to burn you |
|
When all your bright scarlet turn slowly to blue |
|
Will you stop and decide that it's over? |
|
When your teardrops go sour and no longer fall |
|
The splash cross the virgin that lives down your hall |
|
And spends all her nights with an ear to your wall |
|
Well then, what will you have you can offer? |
|
When the firedancers finish and leave you alone |
|
With nothing but embers and sacks full of stone |
|
That hang round your neck, slicing through to the bone |
|
Will there still be place for your laughter? |
|
As your shattered illusions come a-tumblin' home |
|
And all of the butchers you've nourished have grown |
|
And they are suddenly able to leave you alone |
|
And they run like slaves that are set free |
|
When your questions are answered and your pleading is done |
|
And your mind starts to screaming that you ain't the one |
|
That once dwelled within you, will you turn, will you run |
|
Then princess, will you come home and get me? |