Interpret:

Bruce Springsteen

Album:

Magic

The speculators made their money on the blood you shed
Your momma's pulled the sheets up off your bed
The profiteers on Jane Street sold your shoes and clothes
Ain't nobody talkin' because everybody knows
We pulled your cycle up back to the garage and polished up the chrome*
Our gypsy biker's comin' home


Sister Mary sits with your colors, brother John is drunk and gone
This whole town's been rousted, which side are you on?
The favored march up over the hill in some fools parade
Shoutin' victory for the righteous but there ain't much here but graves
Ain't nobody talkin', we're just waitin' on the phone
Gypsy biker's comin' home


We rode her into the foothills, Bobby brought the gasoline
We stood 'round her in a circle as she lit up the ravine
The spring high desert wind rushed down on us all the way back home


To the dead, well it don't matter much 'bout who's wrong or right
You asked me that question, I didn't get it right
You slipped into your darkness, now all that remains
Is my love for you brother, lying still and unchanged
To them that threw you away, you ain't nothin' but gone
My gypsy biker's coming home


Now I'm out countin' white lines
'Countin white lines and getting stoned
My gypsy biker's coming home