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On The Edge
On the edge with a gold coin in my pocket*
On the edge with a gold poem in my pocket
I can tell this air aint't fresh
I can tell this air ain't right
Jim didn't know what 'treachery' meant
We can say to our kids in the morning
'The skies were blue'
It took me days to fly home
It took me days to fly back, and everything was better
I can tell this air aint't fresh
I can tell this air ain't right
Jim didn't know what 'treachery' meant
And Jim didn't know what 'treachery' meant
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An image of you, an image of me
In a cabin for two at the edge of the world
I will imitate a Lyre bird
And you can play me a David song
On the edge with a gold coin in my pocket
On the edge with a gold poem in my pocket
I can tell this air aint't fresh
I can tell this air ain't right
Jim didn't know what 'treachery' meant
And Jim didn't know what 'treachery' meant.
[*** Thanks to ~Jen~ for the Lyrics***]
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