She chases rainbows,
she draws pictures in the storms
She'll follow the arroyo
She'll hold the ocean in her arms
She lost something more
than life
An d I found myself,
found myself a fool, twice.
She went to meet Rossini
at a town's rodeo
His tired hands were bleeding,
one more masterpiece to go
And still he held her with an
iron grip
All the more firm he held
All the more she slipped
And I can hear her voice,
it's a moaning, and pale
She's like an evening gone,
like an ancient Irish tale
The angel poet born from
the ashes of the old
She carved her name inside my soul
She sells her body now
Sells it time and time again
I knew her when she was a child
Only looking for a friend
The games we played,
we played so well
Is she really cursed?
She really cursed, well,
it's hard to tell
And I can hear her voice,
moaning sad and pale
She's like an evening gone,
like an ancient Irish hue
The angel poet born from
the ashes of the old
She carved her name inside,
carved, carved her name, oh yeah
And I can hear her voice,
it's moaning sad and thin
She's like an evening gone,
like an ancient Irish hymn
The angel poet born from
the ashes of the old
She carved her name inside my soul
She chases rainbows
and she draws pictures in the stars
She'll follow the Arroyo
She'll hold the ocean in her arm
We'll see
We'll see
We'll
Slipping through the stars, my girl
We'll see
Let me pass, my girl . . .