Seventeen years she has been in this world Wide-eyed and wistful, pretty little mormon girl She don't know I'm wicked, and she don't know I'm old Sweet Jesus forgive me but she gets in my soul
'Cause she believes in the future and the family tree And she thinks there's a little spark of good left in me And she comes to my door 'cause she thinks I can bring her The glamorous life of a cowboy singer
I rise from my bed to her hand at the bell I look like the devil and I'm feelin' like hell But she don't seem to notice and she steps right inside For to sing me the song that she made up last night
And her voice is shining with the moon and the stars And she plays so unspoiled on that two-bit guitar Singin' love and tomorrow and thank the redeemer And I doom and anoint her a cowboy singer
Alone in my room when she leaves me again I stare at the wall and see death closin' in But I like to imagine I will meet her someday In a land at the end of this lonesome highway
In a fine high country where the best songs are sung And the labels don't care if you're old or you're young And the martins are cheaper, and the pastures are greener And all of the angels are cowboy singers Yes, and all of the angels are cowboy singers
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Copy to Clipboard: Seventeen years she has been in this world Wide-eyed and wistful, pretty little mormon girl She don't know I'm wicked, and she don't know I'm old Sweet Jesus forgive me but she gets in my soul
'Cause she believes in the future and the family tree And she thinks there's a little spark of good left in me And she comes to my door 'cause she thinks I can bring her The glamorous life of a cowboy singer
I rise from my bed to her hand at the bell I look like the devil and I'm feelin' like hell But she don't seem to notice and she steps right inside For to sing me the song that she made up last night
And her voice is shining with the moon and the stars And she plays so unspoiled on that two-bit guitar Singin' love and tomorrow and thank the redeemer And I doom and anoint her a cowboy singer
Alone in my room when she leaves me again I stare at the wall and see death closin' in But I like to imagine I will meet her someday In a land at the end of this lonesome highway
In a fine high country where the best songs are sung And the labels don't care if you're old or you're young And the martins are cheaper, and the pastures are greener And all of the angels are cowboy singers Yes, and all of the angels are cowboy singers
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