Turning 40 can be tough. Indian Blues version.

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This song was written one night, on the two-year anniversary of Chris' death. Here's to you, Crazy Horse.

40th Floor
By American Gypsy

I've got a burnin' down deep in my belly, and this achin' is fillin' my soul.
I can't see the sun and I can't see the moon, and this city is out of control.
I'm walkin' the street and it's burnin' my feet, and the sirens are fillin' my head.
I see hollow eyes and I hear silent cries of the others like me walkin' dead. Ohh ohh ohh

There's a place in my mind, and I know it exists, somewhere other than just in my dreams.
Where my spirit is home and I'm not all alone, and the silence is broken by screams of the hawk as he
flies overhead. No my hope isn't dead, and my wings are outspread as I stand with the wind in my face.

I'm standin' on top of the 40th floor and I know that the time's come to choose.
I wonder if Crazy Horse knows how I feel, 'cause I think he once stood in these shoes.
I'm searching the sky for the high lonesome cry of the hawk that I once set free,
My spirit is strong but I just don't belong. Oh my God, what's to become of me? Ohh ohh ohh

There's a place in my mind and I know it exists, somewhere other than just in my dreams.
Where my spirit is home and I'm not all alone, and the silence is broken by screams of the hawk as he
Flies overhead. No my hope isn't dead, and my wings are outspread as I stand with the wind in my face.

Copyright American Gypsy 1999. All Rights Reserved