Woodstock Blues

Cowboys and assholes were running with the wind
For your hair, for you my sister of blood
Down by the river banks, you washed your hair with a nobody as company
Half of the assholes were mad, the other half killed themselves
The blazzing sun is a warrior, the protector of the royal beuty
Or whatever that must mean

Sister why won't we go back home?
To hear something more than vultures in the middle of the confusion
The sun rises and goes down with your body next to mine
It get's stranger every day

Becky, Woodstock is dead
We could be the last one's standing with simple lyrics
And we fell alone, perhaps

With a flower in your hair, your voice won't be in vain
Darling, let's go back home
To where guitars can sound freely in the afternoon wind
And you, my sister
Be my love, my right-arm, my singer of the Woodstock blues