Less talk, more dancing If we could push off the sick conversation one more night I surely would My shoes have gathered the dust of the vineyard Have I soiled your gown? There's soil on your gown, like sangria Cleanses the heart Our clogged hearts are choking on the grime As the big band waltzes on Your stranded eyes whisper...
\"The dirt is out. I can smell her on your velvet hands.\" The dirt is out -- are we stuck in the motions again?
Oh, but was it sweet In the vineyard Sangria, won't you bless The starving lips Such virgin lips Would choke on all this grime I've found some dirt under my nails I'll scratch and bite until...
The dirt is out but sangria burns under my skin The dirt is out -- I thought I'd never wash these hands again