The Dead Won't Let Me Sleep

Dreams of tropical beaches The dead won't let me sleep Money got me always on my feet A certain gift a contempt behind closed doors The sweetness of life illusions spelled out in a dream The dead won't let me weep Never ashamed but rather in awe Some kind of wonder that deulification To match your hypnotic blame Just you be certain I become a cowboy when all around me is shame I carry a gun to keep your demons away This pen won't kill me in my sleep Obscure songs trap me in a theatre with hand puppets and magic wands To always bring me back to a time without a clock Just an old cabin a squeaky door and a dog laying on the floor The dead makes me remember To wake up early when the sun brings life to its feet Riding into the edge of dawn Flying with grace how she wore swan song feathers When I was 7 I could have been 9 But back then it was the life of a band. So here I sit Just waiting for the man Dedicated to John Cale and Jim Morrison And 1969