Wind On Tin

Southbound 90, past the locked-up luxury store
Tourists take photographs
You’re not a tourist here no more
They’re taxing the adobe now
That the money moved into town
Chasing a legend
But one less legend is raking the grounds

Helpless, helpless, helpless
We all sang along
There is a braid that binds us
And his thread ain’t gone
Heard a sound so heavenly
Were the angels singing just for us?
Or is that what the wind out here does on tin?

I heard God
I heard God
I heard God
I heard God

Nothin’ll get you like seein' a cowboy cry
Nothin’ll get you like seein' a cowboy cry

I heard God
I heard God
I heard God
I heard God