Somebody calls and you never really know who, hidden in the night wind blowing over you. Teach yourself to kiss a dream going by and grab the earth and a little bit of sky. Stand or fall, it doesn't matter much. The blossom is too fragile for your touch. Now and then when you find you're growing old, wear the Past to keep away the Cold. Learn the name of every passing minute and try to live the happiness that's in it. Hang on or let go, it's all the same. Love be soon or late, it's just a name. Scream for Sun! Cry rhapsodies of phantom pain, to recompense the Rainbow for the glory-rain. Turn your deaf ears in for second-hand and settle it all for the price of a wedding band. Love what you hope is him, what you think is her, for what-you-feel is more than you know-for-sure. Somewhere in the darkness that will never dawn you'll look back down the road you traveled lonely on. At every fork in the road, sing out your choice, but, Babe, don't hold your breath til you hear your voice. You'll walk the road by the charm of blood and bone. It's up to you if you walk the road alone. Down the long lonely road there are places, there are faces that stick in my mind. And I find in September the ones I remember are the faces of the ones who were kind. When the wind in the night whistles lonely, it's only the past going by. And I try not to see all the pieces of me that were left there with each soft goodbye. Now I think of the love that I squandered as I wandered alone and apart. The heart I believed was the one on my sleeve. It was better than none. It was Art. Now you come with your smile as a gift blowing riffs on the cool edge of such. And the touch of your lips and the sway of your hips burn my tongue when I tell you how much I love you. You walked right in like you owned the place thinking I'd be happy just to see your face. You're a good switch-hitter but you missed home base. Forget it, baby; I'd rather have the blues. You weren't the best when the times were good and you never loved like you really should. You ain't got settled in your womanhood. Forget it, baby; I'd rather have the blues. You left my board and you left my bed and I won't forget all the things you said. Now you're talking soft while you're in the red? Forget it, baby; I'd rather have the blues. You threw me down like a pair of dice. Now you lost the toss and you're acting nice. I won't be burned by the same fire twice. Forget it, baby; I'd rather have the blues. I ain't so ugly and I ain't so old that I got to sleep in a bed that's cold. I'd rather have silver than your fool's gold. Forget it, baby; I'd rather have the blues. I'm better off barefoot than in your shoes and happier thirsty than with your booze. You're sorry now? Well, ain't that news! Forget it, baby; I'd rather have the blues. I saw the shadow of your shadow, heard the echo of your tear, and for one heart-stopping moment I thought that you were here. But the wind around the corner blew the memories away and you vanished in the sunlight. There was nothing I could say. But there's no love to little to remember, there's no sorrow too heavy to forget. The love we had was quickly born and just as quickly gone. It only stopped to say, "Hello," before it traveled on. But I'm awfully glad we met it if only for awhile, for it left a souvenir behind: the memory of your smile. But there's no love to little to remember, there's no sorrow too heavy to forget. It's a long road, long and it's dusty a hard road I'm on. Broke my soul on the flame of a sunset, but,Oh Lord, what a dawn! It's a wide sea, wide and it's lonely. Tides roll deep, roll high. Drowned my heart in the cruel waters, but, Oh lord, what a sky! It's a wild land, wild and untamed, there where the tumbleweed blows. Pricked my thumb on the thorn of the mountains, but, Oh Lord, what a rose! She's a young lass, young and so pretty, to sit and dally awhile. Washed my life in her sorrowing teardrops, but, Oh Lord, what a smile! Broke my soul on the flame of a sunset, but Lord, Lord, Lord what a dawn! Today is just a shadow. Tonight is but a dream. The glass of time hangs empty. Things are not what they seem,. til you return to me again, my love, til you return once more to take up the key of silence and unlock the golden door. Chorus; An empty night; an empty day Surrounding shadows on my way. An endless way, a restless flight, a lonely footstep in the night. The world is old and aimless. We wander like the breeze. No purpose holds a meaning, no man trusts what he sees til you return once more to me, my love, til you return to me, to light the true-love candle and plant the silver tree. Chorus; An empty night; an empty day Surrounding shadows on my way. And endless way, a restless flight, a lonely footstep in the night. But let the dark be broken, and let the dawn arise and let me see the starlight that flowers in your eyes, when you return again to me, my love, when you turn to me, as Earth will turn to the soft summer rain and the rivers seek the sea. The Night is Woman. The Day is Man. There you are and here I stand. The day to Woman, the Night to Man, take my heart, take my hand. No more Empty, no more Flight, No more lonely walks at night! Only Sun and Moon and Star! Only You and I and Are! There you are and here I stand, open heart and open hand. Night is Woman, Day is Man. Take my heart, take my hand. It was in the San Juan Mountains six bold miners they did go, in search of shining silver hidden underneath the snow, for gold and shiny silver hidden underneath the snow. There was Noon and Swan and Humphreys, and Shannon Bell and Miller and little Alferd Packer too, who was the hungry killer, hungry little Alferd, so soon to be a killer. The miners were not mountain men and soon supplies ran low. They could not go out hunting in the deep and drifting snow, the savage mountain blizzards and the icy, endless snow. Now Alferd's head was made of flint, his heart was even flintier. He murdered his companions, just to see him through the winter. He filled his dinner pail with them to last him out the winter. He was caught and thrown in jail but he soon had broken free, til they took him Wyoming, in the year of '83, in the valleys of Wyoming, in 1883. He had to face a jury then, twelve loyal men and true. The foreman of the jury said, "That was an awful stew!" The foreman of the jury said, "Oh, Alferd, shame on you! We find that you are guilty and we hope that you will die for turning your companions all into prospector pie, for roasting all your comrades underneath a winter sky." Then they stood little Alferd up in front of old Judge Gerry, who felt that Alferd's eating habits were not sanitary, and had a grudge, moreover, because Alferd was - so hairy. "They was only siven Dimmycrats in Hinsdale Countee, and them five men you et, sir, they was Dimmycrats, you see. Yea them five votes that you vetoed they was Dimmycrats - like me!" "So I sintice you, sir, to dangle by the throat as a warnin' 'ginst reducin' the Dimmycratic vote, fer tryin' to make a luncheon of the Dimmycratic vote". I think there is a moral here for every politician: if you can't get the votes, just get your rival in the kitchen. You can win elections from the comfort of your kitchen. Gold dust, gold nuggets, wire silver! Oh look now Mister Packer what you've done! Gold dust, gold nuggets, wire silver! You killed and ate your comrades every one. You son-of-a-gun.