Texty: Cowboy Junkies. Demons. Strange Language.

Up on the bluff, where I wish I was
Twistin' up the pages of history
My cold feet danglin', my bony arms gesturin'
To summon up little chunk of that history

In the corridor the shadows are long
And it messes with my equilibrium
And there's strains of a strange language

Up on the bluff, where the hardwood's jut
Out toward the gusts of history
My crusty mind cracks, my restless heart tracks
The fractal lines of history

In the corridor the shadows are long
And it messes with my equilibrium
And there's strains of a strange language

In the corridor the shadows are long
And it messes with my equilibrium
And there's strains of a strange language