Laura Gibson - Grande lyrics

When the moon carves a trail down the pine-bearded hills And a ghost-wind hollers to the early morn And the starlings return to the old sugar mill Stealing their corn from the grower's field Oh, I'll be no more When we've covered our hands in the bone-white clay And we've shaken the dust from every boot and spur We have counted our days in planks and rails We have kept our spirits in the dancing halls Oh, I'll be no more When a cold corner stage in the back of the room Holds a house band carrying an orphan tune I would swing, I would sway, I would pull my hips To the sad chorus playing on the overheads Oh, I'll be no more Oh, I'll be no more Still to this day I can hear the whistle blow I can smell the sage burn I may be as old and stubborn as a pine But I am just as wild as the young When a ribbon is curved round the blue-shadowed hills And the hot steel is humming down the Union Line Whip-thin, hickory-black, tap-tapping Our sad-faced chatter into rhythm and rhyme Oh, I'll be no more Oh, I'll be no more