The Black Rider

When you hear sweet syncopation
And the music softly moans
T'ain't no sin to take off your skin
And dance around in your bones

When it gets too hot for comfot
And you can't get an ice cream cone
T'ain't no sin to take off your skin
And dance around your bones

Just like those bamboo babies
Down in the South Sea tropic zone
T'ain't no sin to take off your skin
And dance around your bones

(greg cohen)
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The flash pan hunter sways with the wind
His rifle is the sound of the morning
Each sulfurous bullet way have it's own wit
Each cartridge comes with a warning
Beware of elaborate telescopic meats
They will find their way back to the forest

CHORUS
For Wilhelm can't wait
To be Peg Leg's crown
As the briar is strangling
The rose back down

His back shall be my slender new branch
It will sway and bend in the breeze
As the devil does his polka
Wit ha hatchet in his hand
As a sniper in the branches of the trees
As the vulture flutters down
As the snake sheds his dove
Wilhelm's cutting off his fingers
So they'll fit into his glove

CHORUS

Now, George was a good straight boy to begin with, but there was bad blood
In him; someway he got into the magic bullets and that leads straight to
Devil's work, just like marijuana leads to heroin; you think yo ucan take
Them bullets or leave 'em, do you?
Just save a few for your bad days

Well, now, we all have those bad days when you can't shoot for shit.

The more of them magics you use, the more bad days you have without them
So it comes down finally to all your days being bad without the bullets
It's magics or nothing
Time to stop chippying around and kidding yourself,
Kid, you're hooked, heavy as lead

And that's where old George found himself
Out there at the crossroads
Molding the Devil's bullets
Now a man figures it's his bullets, so it will
Hit what he wants to hit
But it don't always work that way

You see, some bullets is special for a single aim
A certain stag, or a certain person
And no matter where you are, that's where the bullet will end up
And in the moment of aiming, the gun turns into a dowser's wand
And point where the bullet wants to go

(George Schmid was moving in a series of convulsive spasms, like someone
with an epileptic fit, with his face distorted and his eyes wild like a
lassoed horse bracing his legs. But something kept pulling him on. And now
he is picking up the skulls and making the circle.)

I guess old George didn't rightly know what he's getting himself into
The fit was on him and it carried him right to the crossroads

The prettiest girl
In all the world
Is in a little Spanish town
But I left her for a Bonnie lass
And I told her
I'd see her around
But that Bonnie lass
And her heart of glass
Would not hold a candle

To bumming around
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
And I'll be back some lucky day

Tell the boys back home
I'm doing just fine
I left my troubles and woe
So sing about me
For I can't come home
I've many more miles to go

Why, there's Miss Kelsey
You taught dance at our school
And old Johnny O'Toole
I'll still beat you at pool
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
ANd I'll be back some lucky day

Now when I was a boy
My daddy sat me on his knee
And he told me
He told me many things
And he said sone
There's a lot of things in this world
You're gonna have no use for
ANd when you get blue
And you've lost all your dreams
There's nothin' like a campfire
And a can of beans

Why, there's Miss Kelsey
She taught dance at our school
And old Johnny O'Toole
I'll still beat you at pool
So don't cry for me
For I'm going away
And I'll be back some lucky day

That's the way the stomach rumbles
That's the way the bee bumbles
That's the way the needle pricks
That's the way the glue sticks
That's the way the potato mashes
That's the way the pan flashes
That's the way the market crashes
That's the way the whip lashes
That's the way the teeth knashes
That's the way the gravy stains
That's the way the moon wanes

There is a light in the forest
There is a face in the tree
I'll pull you out of the chorus
And the first one's always free

You can never go hunting
With just a flintlock and a hound
You won't go home with a bunting
If you blow a hundred rounds

It takes much more than wild courage
Or you'll hit just the tattered clouds
You must have just the right bullets
And the first one's always free

You must be careful in the forest
Broken glass and rusty nails
If you're to bring back something for us
I have bullets for sale

Why be a fool when you can chase away
Your blind and your gloom
I have blessed each one of these bullets
And they shine just like a spoon

To have sixty silver wishes
Is a small price to pay
They'll be your private little fishes
And they'll never swim away

I just want you to be happy
That's my only wish
I'll fix your wagon and your musket
And the spoon will have his dish

And I shudder at the thought of your
Poor empty hunter's pouch
So I'll keep the wind from your barrel
And bless the roof of your house

I'll shoot the moon
Right out of the sky
For you baby
I'll be the pennies
On your eyes
For you baby

I want to take you
Out to the fair
Here's a red rose
Ribbon for your hair

I'll shoot the moon
Right out of the sky
For you baby
I'll shoot the moon
For you

A vulture circles
Over your head
For you baby
I'll be the flowers
After you're dead
For you baby

I want to build
A nest in your hair
I want to kiss you
And never be there

I'll shoot the moon
Right out of the sky
For you baby
I'll shoot the moon
For you