Little King

Little King

you grew up a mile from my town

and I never thought to write it down

raking the autumn leaves

and hoping for some pretty company

I was always packing a suitcase in the dark

In my mind a highway to the western spark

only an overpass

over the hills of dusty grass

And I would have taken all your rifles

And I would have taken all your bibles

And I would have taken all your rifles

for a ride

Little King I swear

that this is not a dream

I read that this is what it should be

in a magazine

sun of the broken down

daughter of a love and prison town

and I would have taken all your rifles

and I would have taken all your bibles

and I would have taken all your rifles

for a ride

We can drink whiskey or sit inside the car

and listen to the silence of the stars

only an overpass

sprung from hills of broken glass

many lands of sorrow

and wishing for tomorrow

make me your sweethearted lady