La Grande

Album: La Grande (2012)
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  • When the moon carves a trail down the pine-bearded hills
    And a ghost-wind hollers to the early morn
    And the starlings return to the old sugar mill
    Stealing their corn from the grower's field

    Oh, I'll be no more

    When we've covered our hands in the bone-white clay
    And we've shaken the dust from every boot and spur
    We have counted our days in planks and rails
    We have kept our spirits in the dancing halls

    Oh, I'll be no more

    When a cold corner stage in the back of the room
    Holds a house band carrying an orphan tune
    I would swing, I would sway, I would pull my hips
    To the sad chorus playing on the overheads

    Oh, I'll be no more
    Oh, I'll be no more

    Still to this day
    I can hear the whistle blow
    I can smell the sage burn
    I may be as old and stubborn as a pine
    But I am just as wild as the young

    When a ribbon is curved round the blue-shadowed hills
    And the hot steel is humming down the Union Line
    Whip-thin, hickory-black, tap-tapping
    Our sad-faced chatter into rhythm and rhyme

    Oh, I'll be no more
    Oh, I'll be no more Writer/s: Laura A Gibson
    Publisher: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Rough Trade Publishing
    Lyrics licensed and provided by LyricFind

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