Jess Williamson Wind On Tin
Southbound 90, past the locked up luxury store
Tourists take photographs
You're not a tourist here no more
They're taxing the adobe now
That the money moved into town
Chasing a legend
But one less legend is raking the grounds
Helpless, helpless, helpless
We all sang along
There is a braid that binds us
And his thread ain't gone
Heard a sound so heavenly
Were the angels singin just for us?
Or is that what the wind
Out here does on tin?
I heard god
I heard god
I heard god
I heard god
Nothin'll get you like
Seein a cowboy cry
Nothin'll get you like
Seein a cowboy cry
I heard god
I heard god
I heard god
I heard god
