Angel of the Desert
By Genie Webster
Maybe it’s how the air smells when the sagebrush is high,
Or how the sky’s covered with clouds made of strawberry pie…
That makes me forget that the desert’s supposed to be brown,
And it helps me remember that the Angel of the Desert’s around.
Well the Angel of the Desert once told me the secret of wealth.
“There’s gold in them hills, though it seems like they’re barren as hell.”
I look for the Angel in corners and up on the shelf,
But the Angel of the Desert’s right next to the devil himself.
Oh… The Angel of the Desert.
Pray for wherever she’s been.
She’s dusty and all kinda weathered,
And she’s next to the devil again.
Ay de lay ee, oh de lay ee,
Ay de lay ee, oh dee ay ee
Ay de lay ee, oh de lay ee hoo
I saw the Angel of the Desert in the face of a woman.
Her kids were all barefoot, but she kept those home fires hummin’.
I look for the Angel in canyons and in mountain streams.
But the Angel of the Desert’s out dancin' in faded blue jeans.
Oh… The Angel of the Desert.
Pray for wherever she’s been.
She’s dusty and all kinda weathered,
And she’s next to the devil again.
She’s right next to the devil again.
Ay de lay ee, oh de lay ee,
Ay de lay ee, oh dee lay ee
Ay de lay ee, oh de lay ee hoo
copyright (c) 2009 Genie Webster. All rights reserved.
By Genie Webster
Maybe it’s how the air smells when the sagebrush is high,
Or how the sky’s covered with clouds made of strawberry pie…
That makes me forget that the desert’s supposed to be brown,
And it helps me remember that the Angel of the Desert’s around.
Well the Angel of the Desert once told me the secret of wealth.
“There’s gold in them hills, though it seems like they’re barren as hell.”
I look for the Angel in corners and up on the shelf,
But the Angel of the Desert’s right next to the devil himself.
Oh… The Angel of the Desert.
Pray for wherever she’s been.
She’s dusty and all kinda weathered,
And she’s next to the devil again.
Ay de lay ee, oh de lay ee,
Ay de lay ee, oh dee ay ee
Ay de lay ee, oh de lay ee hoo
I saw the Angel of the Desert in the face of a woman.
Her kids were all barefoot, but she kept those home fires hummin’.
I look for the Angel in canyons and in mountain streams.
But the Angel of the Desert’s out dancin' in faded blue jeans.
Oh… The Angel of the Desert.
Pray for wherever she’s been.
She’s dusty and all kinda weathered,
And she’s next to the devil again.
She’s right next to the devil again.
Ay de lay ee, oh de lay ee,
Ay de lay ee, oh dee lay ee
Ay de lay ee, oh de lay ee hoo
copyright (c) 2009 Genie Webster. All rights reserved.
Guitar & bass, Rene Best; engineered by Lee Taggart
