Lletres:
Frank Black Where The Wind Is Going

barleycorn Through the rows of places I was born Into Babel?s maze In that dark design Where the neon red of exit signs Leads my simple gaze Where the wind is going Where the wind is going

strapped with black gats, and rough raps, to break your back, jack Cataracts is what they call me cause I can't be seen Mean is dope ya know, as I fiend