Zoë Wren - 45 Fever | Текст песни

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• Zoë Wren
• 45 Fever

Making his slow way across the pavement
Past the run down inn
Broken bottles and yesterday's newspapers
Blowing in the wind
City lights are winking in the distance
Blocking out the stars
The only other hearts near that are beating
Are the rats beneath the cars
Not a tumbleweed is seen
No sand beneath his feet
But the mind will wander freely as it can

Saddle up and he gallops through the dunes
With a pistol strapped, beneath a silver moon
As he nears the town where his foe lies still in wait
Townfolk run, throw the bar doors open wide
As his polished boots are first to step inside
And he reaches down to his belt to seal his fate

Following the overgrown dark passage
To the garden gate
Up along the silent path of broken stones and dreams
Where he stands and waits
Not a tumbleweed is seen
No sand beneath his feet
But the mind will wander freely as it can

And from his belt he draws
The key to his front door
It opens with a slow reluctant groan
The peeling walls are brown
And the bricks are crumbling down
And the fraying threadbare mat says 'home sweet home'
And his only foe lies there
The mountain that's the stairs
That must be overcome to reach his bed
But all this time
There's just one picture in his mind


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