#88 LICENSE TO BELIEVE
#88 LICENSE TO BELIEVE
(Americana)
That weathered wall has 2 pictures:
Me and Randall strumming our guitars.
The other's a young Roy Orbison,
Right before he became a star.
Now the wall's not an easy visit,
I have to love you for a start.
'Cause I don't let just anyone,
Into the back room of my heart.
Just strumming and singing,
Most every Sunday afternoon.
I'm always laughing, trying to catch up,
As Randall calls out the tune.
As Randall calls out the tune.
I was painting the cellar door,
Mama got the call, lets out a cry.
"Lord don't you dare take my boy!"
I just thought: "Randall? Why?"
Church was all full up and then some,
As they put their young preacher to rest.
I stood outside by the well with his guitar,
The only part of my brother I had left.
No more strumming, no more singing,
No more Sunday afternoons.
I close my eyes, I'm always seeing,
When Randall called out the tune.
When Randall called out the tune.
On the porch alone, tried to strum a tune,
Close my eyes, go to my heart's room.
License now pulled off the wall,
Just its hook remains, but that's not all.
Guitar picture's torn, pic of Roy's gone yellow,
I pace the floor as the shadows grow.
Full stop. Back on the porch -- 'cause now I know,
Impatiently watch the sun sink far too slow.
In tonight's dream I'll go to heaven,
Where I guess they've got a DMV.
I'll stand in line, refuse to leave.
Until they give me back
my license to believe.