Angels And Outlaws

God drives a '69 Chevy Impala,
With stained-glass windows and hyper-strobe headlights.
You can hear his engine whine on the edge of the radio dial.
It's Saturday night in Piedras Negras,
Nothing to do here but drink cheap tequila,
and wonder whether life is a treasure or a trial.
Someday we'll meet on the edge of that river,
And we'll fly away to some far, distant land,
Where angels and outlaws can walk,
Hand in hand.
I think of her as an angel above me.
I count the times she has told me she loves me,
But now I am bound to live out my days on the run.
Sometimes salvation is lost to survival.
I live by the pistol, she lives by the Bible,
But we'll meet again over there when our work here is done.
Someday we'll meet on the edge of that river,
And we'll fly away to some far, distant land,
Where angels and outlaws can walk,
Hand in hand.
Now, some of my friends, they have taken the high road,
But I had to see the third-world, first-hand.
Life is a mixture of shuffles and tangos,
And rhythms and reasons I don't understand.
I'm a stranger in a strange light.
God, how I miss her tonight.
God plays a '59 black Stratocaster,
With Vibrolux Reverb and big-bang precision.
You can hear his Holy Music tonight on the back streets of man.
Someday we'll meet on the edge of that river,
And we'll fly away to some far, distant land,
Where angels and outlaws can walk,
Hand in hand.
(Angels and outlaws can walk, hand in hand.)
Hand in hand.
(Angels and outlaws can walk, hand in hand.)
Hand in hand.
(Angels and outlaws can walk, hand in hand.)
Hand in hand.
[To fade]