at night we crossed the border following a Black robe
to the edge of the reservation—to Cataldo Mission
where the saints and all the martyrs look down on dying converts
what makes the water holy she says is that that it´s the closest thing to rain

I stole the mule from Anthony—I helped Anne up upon it
and we rode to Coeur d´Alene—passed Harrison and Wallace
they were blasting out the tunnels—making way for the light of learning
when Jesus comes a´calling she said he´s coming round the mountain on a train

Yeah
It´s my home—last night I dreamt that I grew wings
I found a place where they could hear me when I sing

we floated on to Hanford in a lumber boat up river
past the fisheries and the mill towns like a stretch of future graveyards
she was driven to distraction—said I wonder what will happen
when they find out they´re mistaken—the land is too changed to ever change

we waded through the marketplace—someone´s ship had come in
there was silver and begonias—dynamite and cattle
there were hearts as big as apples and apples in the shape of Mary´s heart
I said inside this gilded cage a songbird always looks so plain

Yeah
It´s my home—last night I dreamt that I grew wings
I found a place where they could hear me when I sing.

and so they came with cameras—breaking through the morning mist
press and businessmen—tycoons—Episcopal philanthropists
lost in their appraisal of the body of a woman
but all we saw were lowlands—clouds clung to mountains without strings

and at last we saw some people...
at last we saw some people...
at last we saw some people huddled up against
the rain that was descending like railroad spikes and hammers
they were headed for the border—walking and then running
and then they were gone into the fog but Anne said underneath their jackets she saw wings