Writin' Lines
(A.Waters)
I tell you baby it's a mystery to me I turn my hand to patience with these verrses to thee But aches and the pain and the rain might be some kind of clue And I'd trek fifty flamin' miles writin' lines to you
And in the morning when the sun goes down I take the lonely road to lonesome town Where the bees and the birds and the trees are the wrong shade of blue And I'd trek fifty flamin' miles writin' lines to you
Well I called you from Sarina, played the concertina Poured my heart all over your shoe And in the desperate evenin' I dedicate your leavin' To games of spin the bottle and the two dollar view
And in the morning when the sun goes down I turn your photograph way down Cause I know that you know that I know that I do too And I'd trek fifty flamin' miles writin' lines to you
And every evening when the moon is black I set my compass to the section of track Where the roses, thistles, wolves and the whistles wait for you And I'd trek fifty flamin' miles writin' lines to you
