Girl With The Curls |
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Observations of a Quixotic Femme Noire
__One Percent - 1%__
Warrior-woman; a Valkyrie. I'll always be yours. Always...and never. 
Are You HOT or NOT?  
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Thursday, July 14, 2005
Watching The Last Waltz - documentary about final concert of The Band. Coyote; Joni Mitchell No regrets Coyote We just come from such different sets of circumstance I'm up all night in the studios And you're up early on your ranch You'll be brushing out a brood mare's tail While the sun is ascending And I'll just be getting home with my reel to reel... There's no comprehending Just how close to the bone and the skin and the eyes And the lips you can get And still feel so alone And still feel related Like stations in some relay You're not a hit and run driver, no, no Racing away You just picked up a hitcher A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway We saw a farmhouse burning down In the middle of nowhere In the middle of the night And we rolled right past that tragedy Till we turned into some road house lights Where a local band was playing Locals were up kicking and shaking on the floor And the next thing I know That Coyote's at my door He pins me in a corner and he won't take "No!" He drags me out on the dance floor And we're dancing close and slow Now he's got a woman at home He's got another woman down the hall He seems to want me anyway Why'd you have to get so drunk And lead me on that way You just picked up a hitcher A prisoner of the white lines of the freeway I looked a Coyote right in the face On the road to Baljennie near my old home town He went running thru the whisker wheat Chasing some prize down And a hawk was playing with him Coyote was jumping straight up and making passes He had those same eyes - just like yours Under your dark glasses Privately probing the public rooms And peeking thru keyholes in numbered doors Where the players lick their wounds And take their temporary lovers And their pills and powders to get them thru this passion play No regrets, Coyote I just get off up aways You just picked up a hitcher A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway Coyote's in the coffee shop He's staring a hole in his scrambled eggs He picks up my scent on his fingers While he's watching the waitresses' legs He's too fat from the Bay of Fundy From Appaloosas and Eagles and tides And the air conditioned cubicles And the carbon ribbon rides Are spelling it out so clear Either he's going to have to stand and fight Or take off out of here I tried to run away myself To run away and wrestle with my ego And with this flame You put here in this Eskimo In this hitcher In this prisoner Of the fine white lines Of the white lines on the free, free way holla@me
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