TOUCH THE GUN

Ain't no god on a greyhound bus

Just you and other folks

And the broken dreams

And the crazy schemes

Sitting in a dirty seat

With a coke stained tambourine

And it's amazing

What you’ll do for free


Another day has come undone

All you want to is touch the gun

Paint up nice, have some fun

All you want to is touch the gun


Stop at every little shack

Have a bite and spit it out

Because you can't decide

If the taste is right

You know roses drown in wine

Could be the love or maybe a sign

Or even something else

That you'll never find


Cut the ribbon, come undone

All you want to is touch the gun

Chase the saints, chase that sun

All you want to is touch the gun


ALL THE LIGHTS

Watch them linger, watch them fade

But they don’t ever really go away

And they look into your eyes so dark

Hoping desperately for a little spark

Throw a card, play a game

Too close dances with another name

And the touch might get too close too soon

You don't know what you will or will not do

All the lights, all the lights

All the lights

That shine so bright

All the nobodies and stars

All just fireflies in a mason’s jar

Watch them bash and bang against the glass

You don't know when or if you will let them out

KEROSENE

Hate to see a bluebird cry

When all she wants to do is fly

Bluebird says she was alone

Or at least she thought it so

Watch the bluebird spread her wings

Hear the tattooed angel sing

Ask her why she had to go

Because he told her so

Found a feather yesterday

From when the bluebird went away

And I still smell the kerosene

Where she slept against me

GOLD

I remembered a thing you did

Down on Georgia street,

You picked a dandelion up,

And ate it in front of me

So long ago, it might as well be gold

So long ago, it might as well be gold

The wings of the honeybees

Shined there in your teeth

You made an alter on a tablecloth

I spread beneath your feet

So long ago, it might as well be gold

So long ago, it might as well be gold

I traded you my mothers ring for

Flowers you picked for me

They were two weeks dead, thorn and thistle

But smelled so sweet to me

So long ago, it might as well be gold

So long ago, it might as well be gold