Steve Earle — Red is the Color

North wind blowing like a hurricane house Old man leaning like he's pulling a plow Neck bowed, bending like a willow bough Red sky the color of the end of time Bleeds dry running down the center line Wise guy pretends he doesn't see the signs Bad news everybody talking about Short fuse half an inch from burning out All used up beyond a reasonable doubt Make way for his majesty, the prodigal king Still taste the poison when you're kissing the ring Don't say he never gave you anything Deep breath, the calm before the storm begins Cold sweat say you ain't listening Don't bet on getting by with that again Short ride from here to where the beast resides Fine line that separates the shadows inside Make mine a double shot of cyanide