Ron "Oily" Sprague's Page

Hawks and Vultures

There’s little hope for flyin’ free, when walkin' towards Eternity

The hawks and vultures hangin’, stoopin’ low.

Your flattened fortunes on the road, the armadillo overload,

The lost highway of dreams you’ll never know.

Black bird upon the wire high, who’s blinkin’ back your eagle eye

With carrion compadre’s upturned grin;

Seems like the joke’s on you, y’know, but then you find it isn’t so:

They're laughin’ just to see the shape you’re in.

They spiral to the ground -

That mournful mornin' sound -

Dark angels touchin' down,

Come to take you home.

The sunshine quivers recklessly beneath their feathered canopies;

The dust motes dance despite the dimming light.

They fan the ashes of despair, ridin' the Devil’s rockin' chair,

The hawks and vultures waitin' 'til it's right.

They spiral to the ground -

That mournful mornin' sound -

Dark angels touchin' down,

Come to take you home.

A sigh to take your breath away, a whisper of the wind at play:

Leavin' lovin's easier than livin’ in it.

The hawk will teach you ‘bout the sky, the vulture’s screech will soon reply:

When your hour’s come, it only takes a minute.

They spiral to the ground -

That mournful mornin' sound -

Dark angels touchin' down,

Come to take you home.

Comin’ to take you home,

Hawks and vultures.