Miles run the daffodil down
And out across the hillside now --
Find you there a bucket well
With wishes tossed inside.
And inside them wishes, you gonna find that blues,
And inside blues: you gonna find the dark
That somehow slithered quietly
Into my happy art.
So here's what happened:
I went walkin with my heart stuck out
With Lonnie Johnson's "I Found a Dream" stuck in my mouth --
The moon was low, and the mountain clouds.
I was whistling about my Lady,
And of her slender hands and her slender face,
And how she woo'd my slender frame.
But my heart was out, and a headwind came
And blew me right off course.
See, I was thinking of her in terms of me.
That's like thinking of birds in terms of bees!
Or is more like thinking of pianos in terms of keys?
Whatever it is, it ain't right.
But to lay these blues down on my path?
That ain't right either; I do know that.
I'm a petty thief who got the murderer rap,
Just bars and bars and bars.
Miles run the daffodil down
And out across the hillside now --
Find you there a bucket well
With wishes tossed inside.
And inside them wishes, you gonna find that blues,
And inside blues: you gonna find the dark
That somehow slithered quietly
Into my happy art.
This is making me dizzy, complain complain!
My record is broked -- again, skip, again, skip, again.
If I mistaked once, I mistaked ten.
But what was that about glass houses?
We can talk of America till the cows come home,
Then we can talk of cows till the mountains fall,
Then we can talk of mountains, but goddammit all,
Now I'm talkin about my lady again.
Miles run the daffodil down
And out across the hillside now --
Find you there a bucket well
With wishes tossed inside.
And inside them wishes, you gonna find that blues,
And inside blues: you gonna find the dark
That somehow slithered quietly
Into my happy art.
I might be more Virginia than I am New York,
But I'm more rococo than Fragonard --
Decorative whiskey, ornate heart --
Man, that shit gets me in trouble.
Well, I say we set the record straight,
I say we say what we want, what do ya say?
Who me? What do I want?
I want all y'all lookin at me just this way
Especially you, my sweetheart.
I said miles run the daffodil down
And out across that hillside now --
Find you there a bucket well
With wishes tossed inside.
And in a little bit inside them wishes, you gonna find that blues,
In the blues: you gonna find the dark
That somehow slithered quietly
Into my happy art.