Spoken:
"When I was back there in seminary school,
there was a person who put forth the proposition
that you can petition the Lord with prayer...
petition the Lord with prayer...
petition the Lord with prayer...
petition the Lord with prayer.
You cannot petition the Lord with prayer!"
Can you give me sanctuary?
I must find a place to hide, a place for me to hide.
Can you find me soft asylum?
I can't make it anymore; the man is at the door.
}x 2
Pep - per - mint mi - ni - skirts, cho - co - late can - dy,
cham - pi - on sax and a girl named San - dy;
Theres on - ly four ways to get un - rav - eled;
Amb7
one is to sleep and the oth - er is trav - el,
one is a band it up in the hills,
one is to love your neigh - bor till his wife gets home.
Catacombs, nursery bones, win-ter woman,
growing stones, carrying babies to the river;
Streets and shoes, avenues, leather riders selling news.
}x4
The monk bought lunch.
}x2
Successfull hills are here to stay.
Everything must be this way.
Gentle street where people play,
welcome to the soft parade.
All our lives we sweat and save,
building for a shallow grave,
"Must be something else" we say,
"somehow to defend this place."
Everything must be this way.
Everything must be this way.
The soft parade has now begun;
listen to the engines hum.
People out to have some fun,
cobra on my left, leopard on my right.
Deer woman in a silk dress,
girls with beads around their necks,
kiss the hunter of the green vest who has wrestled before
with lions in the night.
Out of sight! The lights are getting brighter.
The radio is moaning,
callin' to the dogs there are still a few animals left out in the yard,
but it's not getting harder to describe sailors to the underfed.
Tropic corridor, tropic treasure.
What got us this far, to this mild equador?
We need someone or something new,
something' else to get us through.
But its getting harder, callin' on the dogs.
Shoot at a few animals left out in the yard but its gettin' much harder.
You'd better come along. Just you and I.
Better bring your gun.
You'd better bring your gun.
(spoken):
When all else fails, we can whip the horses' eyes
and make them sleep and cry.
(2nd voice over last part):
Callin' on the dogs, callin' on the dogs, callin' on the dogs.
You gotta meet me at the crossroads.
Gotta meet me at the edge of town,
outskirts of the city.
We were so alone.
Better bring your gun.
(3rd voice over last part):
Too late, baby! Too late.
Tropic corridor, tropic treasure.
Tropic corridor, tropic treasure.