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lirik lagu dresden – cold chisel

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the morning breeze is off and gone
the winding factory streets are clean
old ladies put the kettle on
and all-night lechers pause and lean
on grey shop windows, everywhere
a deeper hum is in the air
hotel room, drifter leaves no clues

he rides a freight-train out of town
and whistles at the icy rime
the cattle float like thistle-downs
and god is on the edge of time
somewhere behind a siren wails
the freight-train soars above the rails
the traveller, he’s hard as nails
as the train sweeps down the line

the salmon season’s here to stay
and etched into each shoulder-bone
the mark of cain is on display
as stone above each measured stone
old dresden burns above the breeze
the traveller, he’s on his knees
he’s watching sledge-wings dip and play
so far above the holy throne

dresden blues . . .

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