Little King
you grew up a mile from my town
and I never thought to write it down
raking the autumn leaves
and hoping for some [bad word] 
I was always packing a suitcase in the dark
In my mind a highway to the western spark
only an overpass
over the hills of dusty grass

And I would have taken all your rifles
And I would have taken all your bibles
And I would have taken all your rifles
for a ride

Little King I swear
that this is not a dream
I read that this is what it should be
in a magazine
sun of the broken down
daughter of a love and prison town
and I would have taken all your rifles
and I would have taken all your bibles
and I would have taken all your rifles
for a ride
for a ride
for a ride

We can drink whiskey or sit inside the car
and listen to the silence of the stars
only an overpass [bad word] from hills of broken glass
many lands of sorrow
and wishing for tomorrow
make me your sweethearted lady