Marissa Nadler Follow

Little King
you grew up a mile from my town
and I never thought to write it down
raking the autumn leaves
and hoping for some pretty company

I was always packing a suitcase in the dark
In my mind a highway to the western spark
only an overpass
over the hills of dusty grass

And I would have taken all your rifles
And I would have taken all your bibles
And I would have taken all your rifles
for a ride

Little King I swear
that this is not a dream
I read that this is what it should be
in a magazine
sun of the broken down
daughter of a love and prison town
and I would have taken all your rifles
and I would have taken all your bibles
and I would have taken all your rifles
for a ride
for a ride
for a ride

We can drink whiskey or sit inside the car
and listen to the silence of the stars
only an overpass
sprung from hills of broken glass
many lands of sorrow
and wishing for tomorrow
make me your sweethearted lady