(c) 1987 by Mike Moran
Bluejean lovers ride their summer dreams on wheels of fire
Late-night sweats-they're gonna crack their hips on their sacrificial pyre
Burning with the rhythm and the heat of their love
Burning like the lightning sky
Blazing like a prayer to the dark-eyed gods
Like a woman's scream in the night
They're letting go
Rain splatters mud on the dusty road like fingers slapping the ground
The radio buzzes with mindless noise-a faint-remembered sound
I ride these lines like a vagabond
Like a tramp without a home
I'm burned with simple solitude
But I'm learning to stand alone
I'm letting go
In the back of my eyelids are the memories; in the back of my skull is a dream
But in front of my eyes leads a storm-cloud highway
In front of my eyes is a place I've never been
And I wonder: do you know these storm-clouds?
And I wonder: do you smell the change?
And I wonder: can you see the winter riding on the range?
We gotta let go