Sitting here, waiting for the words to come
and always fear, that there's no water in the well
but when the water's turning black
or the sun will not appear or a sinner lost his mind
than the lines will come up fast.
Standing here and reading every word he wrote
understand that he never came before
and he still knows how I feel
about the man who always moves
like a shadow on the streets
than the lines will come up fast.
The other side is only for our people here
and when we die, there is no one to shed a tear,
now that Waterford's in pain
and he only sends for me
but I'll refuse to go to him
so he just might have to wait.