Your Old Guitar
What’s that gull I hear, crying to the sea
Seems to be a hound dog growling, howling to be free
Listen to the rainstorm drumming with a deep and heavy beat
Nothing, but your old guitar, walking down the street
What’s that sound I see where the sun breaks through
Sliding down a rainbow’s back, fifty colours blue
I can hear the four winds humming, dreaming up a tune
Nothing, but your old guitar, reaching for the moon
|
|
Chinese firecrackers on a coal black sky
Symphony of last year’s summer and the night train rattling by
Mail man calling, early in the morning
Hoochy coochy rhythm of day returning
Cool, cool, as the polar star
Just your old guitar
What’s that stream out there, underneath a tree
In the moochy smoochy shade where deserts used to be
I can hear a wild world thrumming, in a long lost key
Nothing, but your old guitar, making love to me
|
|
|
