I've been taking off and landing, but this airport's closed
And how much thicker this fog is gonna get, God only knows
Just when you think that you've got a grip,
E /F# /G# A
As if you ever knew what it was,
Takin' you down the line.
Tearing through the cotton fields and bus shelters
Of the South running helter skelter
Down through the Mississippi Delta
With no place to call your own.
Mixing up drinks with mixed feelings,
All along the paint was peeling
Down to an Indian blanket on a pony,
With no rider in the flesh and bone
Lookin' for his buffalo river home.
I've been circling the wagons down at Times Square