Run, Baby, Run

She was born in November 1963, the day Elvis Huxley died.

And her mama believed that every man could be free.

So her mama got high, high, high.

And her daddy marched on Birmingham, singing mighty protest songs.

And he pictured all the places where he knew that she belonged

But he failed and taught her young

The only thing she need to carry on

He taught her how to

Run baby, run baby, run

So run baby, run baby, run baby, run baby

Pass me arms and look from their home, and their talk of better days

To the comfort of the strangers slipping out before his station

Baby loves to run

She counts out all her money

In a taxi on the way to meet her play

and stares hopeful out the window at the workers fighting through the pouring rain

and she's searching through the stations for an unfamiliar song and she's thinking about the

places that she knows she still belongs she signs the sequence now that she knows exactly how to

So run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run.

So run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run.

From their old familiar faces and their old familiar ways

To the comfort of a stranger's heat

The comfort of a stranger's heat

So long before they say so long

The baby learns to run

And she's searching through the stations

For an unfamiliar song

And she pictures all the places

That she knows she still belongs

And she smiles the secret smile

So she knows exactly how to carry on

So run baby, run baby, run baby, run baby, run

So run baby, run baby, run baby, run baby, run

So run baby, run baby, run baby, run baby, run

So run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run

So run, baby, run, baby, run, baby, run