Weather

By the light of the moon, Howlin' all the way, By the skin of my teeth, By the soul of my feet, I'm ridin' out the wind, It doesn't matter where I've been. I've got the taste in my mouth, I've got a hunger in my gut, My skin has turned to leather, My hair is banded rope. I'm comin' home, but I ain't comin' home for you, I'm comin' home, there ain't nothin' you can do. Turnin' brick walls into doors, Ain't nothin' you can do about it.