Hidden in Field - Lucas Melan & IWL

Snow on the railroad tracks Dogs in the moonlight Stoned out on Kerouac Tryin' to get it just right A phone in a dim lit room Rings out forever In a time that was still too soon But why should he care? He had a rambling soul He drank a bottle of cheap wine Turned up his collar to the cold And waited, he waited for a sign Fueled by amphetamines And visions of beauty As far as the eye could see Was all that he strived for A waitress in Tennessee Said he looked like Jesus He silenced her raging sea Then walked out the door He had a rambling soul He drank a bottle of cheap wine Turned up his collar to the cold And waited, he waited for a sign Under an open sky He stands with his eyes closed If anyone asked him why He would not know He's lost in America Hell bent for no place A rusty harmonica That won't even play He's lost in America...

She got a tattoo of a bracelet on her wrist The love of strangers on her Christmas list She ain't sentimental, she don't like to reminisce She's a champion of action You ain't never heard her voice but that's all right 'Cause you ain't never seen her face before tonight But now you see her swaying to the left and to the right And it rocks your whole foundation See her spinning 'round Blond hair falling down You can hear the sound... Of your heart breaking From the love she's taking from you The song it's making Is like a rhapsody in blue Well you ain't never seen no aura in your life But you know her's is the color of the sky When she looks at you it kills you, when she turns away you die It's a tragic situation So you drink one down for courage, two for soul You drink a third for good luck, then you stroll Out onto the dance floor, but your feet are too damn cold And you need more insulation See her spinning 'round Blond hair falling down You can hear the sound... Oh, she don't love you Oh, she don't see you in the crowd Oh, if she did she would not want you anyhow Expectation lingers in the air The problem is that no one else is there Just the memory of your angel, all these ghosts in empty chairs Making comments 'bout the weather The taxi cab is waiting at the door You can hear the driver blowing on his horn So you close your eyes one last time, and you conjure up her form And you shake it down together See her spinning 'round Blond hair falling down You can hear the sound...