Tekster:
Williams Lucinda Live At The Fillmore

You don't have to prove Your manhood to me constantly I know you're the man, can't you see? I love you righteously Why you wanna dis me? After the way

Can't put the rain back in the sky Once it falls down, please don't cry Rain turns the dirt into mud Warm and messy, like your love Can't force the river

Come on, come on Kill the rats in the gutter Come on, come on Sings the voice in the choir Come on, come on Bring your father and your mother Come on

Sometimes the doors they'd be locked 'Cause there were precious things that I couldn't touch Company couch covered in plastic Books about being saved The dining room table nobody ate at

We may pass each other on the interstate We honk and cross over to the other lane Everybody's going somewhere, everybody's inside Hundreds of cars, hundreds of private lives

with a 44 and they found him lyin' on his bed I could not speak a single word, no tears streamed down my face I just sat there on the living room couch

Baby, see how I been living Velvet curtains on the windows to keep The bright and unforgiving light from shining through Baby, I remember all the things

majesty Of the different shapes In every note The endless tapes Of every word you wrote Real live bleeding fingers And broken guitar strings Real live

feel like you're good enough You've had the blues ever since you were six Your little tennis shoes and your pick-up sticks You were screamed at and