The speculators made their money
On the blood you shed
Your Mama's pulled the sheets up off your bed
The profiteers on Jane Street
Sold your shoes and clothes
Ain't nobody talking 'cause everybody knows
We pulled your cycle up at the garage
And polished up the chrome
Our Gypsy biker's comin' home
Sister Mary sits with your colors
Brother John is drunk and gone
This whole town's been rousted
Which side you on
The favored march up over the hill
In some fools parade
Shoutin' victory for the righteous
There ain't much here but graves
Ain't nobody talkin'
We're just waitin' on the phone
Our Gypsy biker is comin' home
We rode her into the foothills
Bobby brought the gasoline
We stood 'round the circle
As she lit the ravine
The spring high desert wind
Rushed down on us all the way back home
To the dead it don't matter much
'Bout who's wrong or right
You asked me that question I didn't get it right
You slipped into your darkness
Now all that remains
Is my love for you brother
Lying still and unchanged
To them that threw you away
You ain't nothin' but gone
Our Gypsy biker is comin' home
Now I'm out countin' white lines
Countin' white lines and getting stoned
My Gypsy biker is coming home.