Kathump, kathump,
boom, boom, flash,
spider cascade,
purple crash,
rumbling thunder,
crescendo zoom,
kathump, kathump,
boom, flash, boom,
kathump, kathump,
boom, boom, burst,
flowered fracture,
silver surge,
Oh, concussion
Patriot's tune,
kathump, kathump,
boom, burst, boom,
kathump, kathump,
boom, boom, blaze,
gold explosions,
glowing gaze:
Song of Freedom
in smoky haze,
kathump, kathump,
boom, boom, blaze.

Kathump, kathump,
boom, boom, flash,
spider cascade,
purple crash,
rumbling thunder,
crescendo zoom,
kathump, kathump,
boom, flash, boom,
kathump, kathump,
boom, boom, burst,
flowered fracture,
silver surge,
Oh, concussion
Patriot's tune,
kathump, kathump,
boom, burst, boom,
kathump, kathump,
boom, boom, blaze,
gold explosions,
glowing gaze:
Song of Freedom
in smoky haze,
kathump, kathump,
boom, boom, blaze.

Sweet Mother Christmas has fallen asleep,
with grandchild in arms, presents all wrapped
a 5 a.m. husband floor creaking around.

Sleepy eyed husband just Rockwells the scene
joy slips in his heart, mem’ries come back,
his mind fills with happy, a grin lips his mouth.

Dear Mother Christmas is remming her dreams,
bereft of alarms, daylight on tap,
awaiting the move of the felt advent mouse.

Our bare, brief escape begins at the dance.
Steaming, smoking animals moving chance
that this ***** dancehall can yield loving.
Drug crazed pickers rev up their machined
Six string-ed orchestral Gibson guitars;
Yow! All the hipsters are making the scene
just now arrived in their late models cars.
Adults aping adolescents boldy down
drinks, belch bad beer and sweetly perspire
while you seething, hot and so sensuous
put my hand to your breast showing your fire.
Baby let's dance! Let's have our fun!!
Our brief escape has just begun.

No bigger place than the desert.
No wider place for the sky.
There's no one more alone than me
with my thumb sticking out for a ride.

Every half hour a truck rolls by
and maybe a car or two.
I'm all alone in the desert.
The sun's slowly slipping from view.

Where in the hell is everyone?
It's twilight on the road.
I'm all alone in the desert.
It's getting toward dark and cold.

I'm at the side of the highway.
My companion is the wind.
I am the Last Hitchhiker.
Traffic has come to an end.

I am the Last Hitchhiker.
Traffic has come to an end.

The railway is a silver line
piercing through the gloom
of this lonely place.
The night train’s slowly sliding by
shining in the moon
lighting up my face
and it makes such a lonesome sound.

The full moon is a cruel friend
beaming cold and bright on the railroad track.
The night train echoes back again
ghostly in the night,
never coming back;
and it makes such a lonesome sound.

The north wind blows into my soul
filling up the void that the night train made.
The night train is a memory
that I can’t avoid as I make my way
and it makes such a lonesome sound,
such a lonesome sound,
such a lonesome sound.