Tim O'Brien

Can you tell me where we heading?
Lincoln county road or armageddon?
Seems like I been down this way before
Is there any truth in that, senor?

Senor, senor
Do you know where she’s hiding?
How long are we gonna be riding?
How long must I keep my eyes glued to the door?
Will there be any comfort here, senor?

There’s a wicked wind still blowing on that upper deck
There’s an iron cross still hanging from around her neck
There’s a marching band still playing in their vacant lot
Where she held me in her arms one time and said forget what we got

Senor, senor
I can see the painted wagon
Smell the tail of a dragon
I can’t stand the suspense anymore
Can you tell me who to contact here, senor?

Well the last thing I remember before I stripped and kneeled
Was a train load full of fools bogged down in a magnetic field
And a gypsy, with a broken flag and a flashing ring
He says, -son this ain’t a dream no more, it’s the real thing

Senor, senor
You know their hearts are hard as leather
Give me a minute, let me get it together
Gotta pick myself up off the floor
I’m ready when you are, senor

Señor, señor
Let’s overturn these tables
Disconnect these cables
This place don’t make sense to me no more
Can you tell me what we’re waiting for, senor?

Seems like I been down this way before
Is there any truth in that, señor?
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