The wind blows from the desert, the doors of Lyde's saloon are closed,
there is a piano in the corner and the ghosts are dancing ballet on it.
the wall is nailed, the nail is through the heart,
and where am I standing when the ghosts grab my chest and whisper.< br/>They take me to the bar counter, offering me a drink of joy,
I drink and ask the pianist to play a melody,
where there is wind and water, a meadow and an apple tree, the wind blows from the edge of the desert
it is beautiful what happens in my memories.< br/>I write, on the walls of abandoned houses, I write how I need you,
I write lonely people on the stairs.
I write, write, write.
I can share my dreams about an Indian who teaches me
that people have wings and the promised land of lovers,
that old Indian woman prays for me in a dream,
she scatters ashes on the flames and your face in front of me.
when someone runs away from my saloon,
it doesn't be a ghost that can tempt my mind.
I know you were somewhere,
there is no meadow or water that would water our apple trees any longer.
I write, on the walls of deserted houses, I write how I need you,
I write singles on the stairs.
I write, I write, I write.
now I write, on the walls of abandoned houses, I write how I need you,
I write singles on the stairs.
I write, I write, I write.
write, write, write

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