little king you grew up a mile from my town and i never thought to write it down raking the autumn leaves and hoping for some pretty company i was always packing a suitcase in the dark in my mind a highway to the western spark only an overpass over the hills of dusty grass and i would have taken all your rifles and i would have taken all your bibles and i would have taken all your rifles for a ride little king i swear that this is not a dream i read that this is what it should be in a magazine son of the broken down daughter of a love and prison town and i would have taken all your rifles and i would have taken all your bibles and i would have taken all your rifles for a ride for a ride for a ride we can drink whiskey or sit inside the car and listen to the silence of the stars only an overpass sprung from hills of broken glass many lands of sorrow and wishing for tomorrow make me your sweet hearted lady