Where The Wind is Going - Frank Black

I don?t have time for your tears
It?s kinda hard to explain
I got a bird in my brain
I got a dog in my ear
I could be gone for a year
Where the wind is going
Indiana or Spain
Where the wind is going

I cannot get in that line
Get to my suffering on time
I hear the whistling outside
I think you think its a witch
She?ll be scratching my itch
She?ll be brushing my hide
I think I?ll go for a ride
Through the barleycorn
Through the rows of places I was born
Into Babel?s maze
In that dark design
Where the neon red of exit signs
Leads my simple gaze
Down that river side
Where from loneliness I often died
And so many times I will be raised

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