Oh, these three worn words Of tourists in Verona I just want to love you in my own language There was a wayward lad Stepped out one morning The ground to be his bed The sky his awning Neon, neon, neon A blue neon lamp in a midnight country field

Silent night for the rest of my life Whisper, whisper don't make a sound Your bed is made it's in the ground Hold your breath and count to four Pinky swears don't work no more I was alive but now I'm singing Silent knight at the edge of your knife Won't

I'm goin' to Louisiana And get me a mojo hand Cold ground was my bed last night Rocks was my pillow too I lay down thinking Buy me a mojo hand I'm gonna fix my woman so She can't have no other man I woke up this morning, I'm wondering