Some day I might turn around to see,
All the bad deeds that I did in the red lights,
All the bad deeds that I did in the black dead of night.

But I won't refrain from the mystic on a wing tip,
It just rides out of me.

And on Sinai I might burn amongst the trees,
Watch the ghosts disappear to the Red Sea,
And on Sinai I might dance amongst the breeze,
Watch the ghosts disappear into the Dead Sea,
Watch the ghosts disappear inside of me.

But I won't refrain from the mystic on a wing tip,

It just rides out of me.

Trying to plug my stories,

I was trying to get my rhythming down,

This ain't no Jackanory,

Now i'm going to quit the ground,

We're going to quit the ground.

But I won't refrain from the mystic on a wing tip,

It just rides out of me.