"Bellafatima" lyrics
Her face read like Anna Karenina
She was strong as that old gypsum weed
And oh she could dance like a blind beggar's hand
Just waiting for someone to see
She spoke like a hard night in Beaumont
Carried on like the old Suwannee
And she came along like a ravenous song
So hungry for someone to sing
The days turned like cowards
So swiftly to the hour of need
And I'll be a martyr
To whatever your heartache will leave
Then I'll slip through your hands like a boy
Born with no name
Her eyes they were set like a cannon
And boy, they'd blow you away
She'd cross your mind like a cheap box of wine
Where each sip's like a track switch and train
She swore like a dry county welder
She's pry on the side seldom seen
And she could make love like Augusta Road
And just buckle like the bends in a creek
The days turned like cowards
So swiftly to the hour of need
And I'll be a martyr
To whatever your heartache will leave
Then I'll slip through your hands like a boy
Born with no name
The days turned like cowards
So swiftly to the hour of need
And I'll be a martyr
To whatever your heartache will leave
Then I'll slip through your hands like a boy
Born with no name
She was strong as that old gypsum weed
And oh she could dance like a blind beggar's hand
Just waiting for someone to see
She spoke like a hard night in Beaumont
Carried on like the old Suwannee
And she came along like a ravenous song
So hungry for someone to sing
The days turned like cowards
So swiftly to the hour of need
And I'll be a martyr
To whatever your heartache will leave
Then I'll slip through your hands like a boy
Born with no name
Her eyes they were set like a cannon
And boy, they'd blow you away
She'd cross your mind like a cheap box of wine
Where each sip's like a track switch and train
She swore like a dry county welder
She's pry on the side seldom seen
And she could make love like Augusta Road
And just buckle like the bends in a creek
The days turned like cowards
So swiftly to the hour of need
And I'll be a martyr
To whatever your heartache will leave
Then I'll slip through your hands like a boy
Born with no name
The days turned like cowards
So swiftly to the hour of need
And I'll be a martyr
To whatever your heartache will leave
Then I'll slip through your hands like a boy
Born with no name
Writer(s): Hoyt Van Tanner
