The Night Gram Parsons Died

Words/Music: Don de Leaumont

An old hotel room, desert sand.

A windy night in Joshual Tree sits a lonely man.

A dirty needle, a rusty sppon.

The hickory wind blows across the land

beneath a harvest moon.

    Somewhere along the way, you lost the song.

    A grievous angel, you'd become.

    I sometimes wonder, if anyone there cried

    on the night Gram Parsons died.

At what point, could you take no more?

Of that dirty old Sin City and that gold plated door.

Cash on the barrelhead, the devil dealt you lost.

Not even with your big mouth blues could you talk your way out of the cost.

    Somewhere along the way, you lost the song.

    A grievous angel, you'd become.

    I sometimes wonder, if anyone there cried

    on the night Gram Parsons died.

A crowded airport, a hijacked hearse.

A friend takes the wheel just trying to keep his word.

Set ablaze, he set you free.

In the desert night beneath the Joshua Tree.

    Somewhere along the way, you lost the song.

    A grievous angel, you'd become.

    I sometimes wonder, if anyone there cried

    on the night Gram Parsons died.