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Your world is in flames there ainand't even a name
for the feelings you feel as you watch it all burn.
thereand's a girl in the distance, sheand's calling your name,
but the name that sheand's calling is not your name, she calls:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
And you canand't walk on that water, i know and'cause i tried.
itand's our spider web-thinking, itand's just too heavy with holes.
and our thoughts they are made up of red georgia clay,
we think we know everything, but man we donand't know:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field... here come the word-mule!
My friends,
look out for hustlers for preachers for sheisters,
them silver-tongued saints who pretend to do good,
and'cause they?re geeks biting chicken-heads off with their witty rejoinders they ainand't nothing but greasy fast food for:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
Jim White
Wordmule
Wordmule
Your world is in flames there ainand't even a name
for the feelings you feel as you watch it all burn.
thereand's a girl in the distance, sheand's calling your name,
but the name that sheand's calling is not your name, she calls:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
And you canand't walk on that water, i know and'cause i tried.
itand's our spider web-thinking, itand's just too heavy with holes.
and our thoughts they are made up of red georgia clay,
we think we know everything, but man we donand't know:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field... here come the word-mule!
My friends,
look out for hustlers for preachers for sheisters,
them silver-tongued saints who pretend to do good,
and'cause they?re geeks biting chicken-heads off with their witty rejoinders they ainand't nothing but greasy fast food for:
The word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
the word-mule! the word-mule! the word-mule!
but heand's plowing the field...
