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In the blue Texas hill land, he sings in the streets
with a twelve-string guitar and a voice for singin'
he sings about the longest love of grave advances and retreats
and the times that the mighty winds are bringin'
I heard Orpheus sing about his time in the war
and the black ships and the thunder and the furies
when you didn't have to ask what the fighting was for
you just lived or you died, and you killed off all your worries
and he sang about the hell that he went down to find his love
where even Sisyphus sat on his rock just to hear
and his songs gave him the favor to bring his woman back above
his songs took him to hell without no fear
but her step was too slow, and his glance was too fast
and she slipped back to the dark and dreary
"if only," cried the man, "that glance could've been my last
I wouldn't have to live out my days alone and weary
my boy," sang the man, "take heed, hear my song
though yours too may be heard by kings and pharoahs
you don't need to go down to the land where you don't belong
by the crags and the steeps and the narrows
just love what you can, where you can and when you can
and sing when the spirit has you do it
and when you got the chance, hang onto your lady's hand
you don't want to be tellin' the world about how you blew it"