WORDS

THE DARK CLOUDS HUNG LOW 

It was a black and whipping night. A hand was on a thigh. 

The bartender was closing up, a good time for telling lies. 

Candles burned on counter tops. In the corner they were counting cash. 

In the dim, a girl stared at him. Her eyes tore like a lash. 

 

And from the gloom she came. Lit the walls up like a war. 

And she passed by him, disappearing out the door. 

And she took the room with her, and the air just flowed. 

And the dark clouds hung low. 

 

A woman spoke on the telephone. Outside the omens poured. 

On her face each imperfection showed, and his heart began to soar. 

After work, her night was young. His old jealousies ran green. 

He thought about the women he’d known, and the ones who stayed in dreams. 

 

And his waters ran so dangerous and deep. 

He put his bathrobe on. Shame and electricity. 

Began a night just as creep as a man could go. 

And the dark clouds hung low. 

 

A hotel window in a crowded town. Below the cars rolled by. 

One of those days when he’d pulled inside himself and squeezed out dry. 

Bars and banks and coffee shops. Every color seemed to blur. 

Even the sky seemed wound too tight. And that’s when he saw her. 

 

At her office desk, in the building across the way. 

And she looked so sad. And he wished she could hear him say, 

“Oh girl, you’re not alone...” 

But the dark clouds hung low. 

 

Oh girl, you’re not alone.

 

 

Jim Walker - Vocals, Guitar