The Night Is Growing Dark

From Somewhere Deep Within

It Shelters Like An Ark

That Always Takes You In



The Barmaid Walks On Over

And Pours Another Round

For A Lost Soul At The Corner

Who Prays He's Never Found



And The Mind Goes Numb

Until It's Feeling No Pain

And The Soul Cries Out

For A Handful Of Rain



Wash Your Women

In Your Whiskey

When Your Future's

In The Past

And Your Staring

Up At Heaven

From The Bottom

Of A Glass

And You Need Some Insulation

From The Years You've

Had And Lost

And You Feel The Perspiration

As You're Adding Up The Cost



And The Night Rolls On

Like A Slow Moving Train

And The Soul Cries Out



There's A Land Beyond The Living

There's A Land Beyond The Dead

If It's True That God's Forgiving

Of The Lives That We Had Led

In The Distance There's A Thunder

And The Air Is Thick And Warm

And The Patrons Watch With Wonder

The Approaching Of The Storm



And The Night Rolls On

Like A Slow Moving Train

And The Soul Cries Out

For A Handful Of Rain



There's An Old Man In The Corner

And He's Smoking All The Time

An The Smoke Is Drifting Upward And It's

Twisting In My

Twisting In My

Mind

In My Mind



The Whiskey's Getting Deeper

And I Use It Like A Moat

There's A Blues Man In The Distance And He's

Lost Inside His

Note

His Note



The Night Is Growing Dark

From Somewhere Deep Within

It Shelters Like An Ark

That Always Takes You In



And The Night Rolls On

Like A Slow Moving Train

And The Soul Cries Out

For An Handful Of Rain