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Sittin' on a cloud high over the lonesome Black Hills. |
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They stretch into quiet to the hole that the Badlands fill. |
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Sometimes it feels like nothing, other times so much more. |
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Like when you dance upon the dust of the lonesome Badlands floor. |
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When you drift across the sky of dyin' stars and new ones born. |
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Sometimes it's burnin' heat beatin' Hell upon my face. |
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Sometimes it's blowin' snow buryin' my path without a trace. |
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Sittin' on a fence of twistin' and rusted razorwire. |
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The morning bird was singing a song for the old day that expired. |
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Driftin' down a dirtroad of dyin' days and new ones born. |
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I will meet you there, the dust is where we all return. |
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When you drift across the sky of dyin' stars and new ones born |
