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Lyrics
Blind man's woman and her pictures--
Red is green for the blackest berry's color.
You so fattish and folded by your lover--
Springtime flower, chip there on your shoulder.
Bare feet in my naked hand to measure,
And you and how you seemed to be so eager--
I promised you that I would give you shelter;
You say that it don't, oh no-no-no, it don't matter.
Fancy you might one day find another,
And still you fill your mind's eye with laughter--
Dry ink is bleeding on your onion paper;
You know the fly come not to the boiling pot of water.
You read your fiction and then you figure:
Say "No never, my gentle man suitor."
Receiving gifts and leaving the giver,
You say that it don't, oh no-no-no, it don't matter.
Did you see me scratch my name up on your mirror.
Did you feel the silver stinging on my fingers.
I don't draw no lines too mean for your pleasure,
And you won't find no remedy without your lover.
Ain't no bird of feather.
And no faction on the matter.
Can't be no fairer weather.
What you want ain't never what you need.
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