Dresden کے بول

The morning breeze is off and gone The winding factory streets are clean Old ladies put the kettle on And all-night lechers pause and lean On grey shop windows, everywhere A deeper hum is in the air Hotel room, drifter leaves no clues He rides a freight-train out of town And whistles at the icy rime The cattle float like thistle-downs And God is on the edge of time Somewhere behind a siren wails The freight-train soars above the rails The traveller, he's hard as nails As the train sweeps down the line The salmon Season's here to stay And etched into each shoulder-bone The mark of Cain is on display As stone above each measured stone Old Dresden burns above the breeze The traveller, he's on his knees He's watching sledge-wings dip and play So far above the holy throne Dresden blues . . .