Light up the woodpile
Unbutton your coat
Let the sweet memories
Burn in your throat
The sun has pickled
Our bodies again
Let's sing down the moon
And wait for the end
Come to me old washerwoman
Shake the dust off our old skin and bones
With hazy hands and calloused minds
We will rebel at the rest of our kind
Close off the lamplight
Stare at the stars
Nothing ever changes
From the hoods of our cars
Laughing away
Our troubles once more
Smiles make us mortal
And our spirits to soar
Come to me old washerwoman...
Naked walk like children
Dance down the hall
Leave the future lying
With the rest of it all
Point out the way
With lyric and poem
So far far away
We fly away home
Come to me old washerwoman...
Copyright 2014 Jeremy Rodgers