|written by Gary Marks © 1969 Arewea Co. ASCAP|
There's a fire in the sky
and the cotton is trying to soak it up
or at least send it back to where it came from;
back to where it came.
White bright circle light in the night
and black fog he's trying to smoke it out
or at least cover up the pieces.
Curtain window always trying to step before
all the quiet blues and greens
With red brick mountain city buildings with silhouetted women.
Shining eyes of evening you're winking at me
Sometimes only I can hear you.
Sometimes only I can hear you sometimes.
Only I can hear you.