The taste of blue skies

Like Frank Sinatra's eyes

And open pools of blood

You bet they never looked so good

I'm coming home, I'm coming home

Tonight I dream, I dream of New Orleans

We're spinning

Out of control again

But the taste of the ocean floors and time will tell,

"Yeah, yeah, yeah

Oh, baby

Maybe we'll meet again,"

Well, get out of your car, come on kiss me



"Mechanical blades

And address books with no names,"

It's the stories I trade

And knives wrapped in lace

Tonight I dream, I dream of New Orleans

I'm coming home, I'm coming home



We're spinning

Out of control again

But the taste of the ocean floors and time will tell,

"Yeah, yeah, yeah

Oh, baby

Maybe we'll meet again,"

Well, get out of your car, whore, come on kiss me



(I dream of New Orleans)

Lift your casket to the sky

I hope tonight I die

I hope tonight we die

I'm coming home



Home



Tonight I dream of New Orleans

(I got a gun in New Orleans)

Can a man witness his own funeral?

(He's got a gun)



Tonight I dream, I dream of New Orleans



I dream of New Orleans.