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Loviní Hand

Thereís a pale moon rising tonight in the Eastern sky. Iím just sitting here, staring at his lonesome face. I canít tell my troubles to the moon, ícause heís up too high, But even the moon can see that Iím out of place.
Now I donít suppose thereís nothing wrong with being alone, And know that thereís times every manís going to feel fear. But it donít seem a manís heart ought to be cold as a stone, Or shaking to the bottom of his soul like a wildwood deer.
But I look up in the sky, and the stars are wrong. And I try to get my bearings, but the rhyme and the reasonís gone. My thoughts are lost and scattered, like a poem written in the sand. Iím reaching out in the darkness, but I canít find a loviní hand.
Now, the highwayís a temptation: it could take me back from where I came. And thereís a rifle on the wall could send me someplace that I never been. But thereís nowhere in this wide and weary world where I can feel the same As before I failed to fear my fate, and fell into this fix Iím in.
And thereís a pale moon rising in the Eastern sky tonight. Heís seen a lot of lonely loversí lucky breaks ainít broke quite like they planned. It donít seem to matter any more if it was wrong or right: Now Iím paying with my soul for something I can never understand.
Still I look up in the sky, but the stars are wrong. And I try to get my bearings, but the rhyme and the reasonís gone. My thoughts are lost and scattered, like a poem written in the sand. Iím reaching out in the darkness, but I canít find a loviní hand.