The taste of blue skiesLike Frank Sinatra's eyesAnd open pools of bloodYou bet they never looked so goodI'm coming home, I'm coming homeTonight I dream, I dream of New OrleansWe're spinningOut of control againBut the taste of the ocean floors and time will tell,Yeah, yeah, yeahOh, babyMaybe we'll meet again,Well, get out of your car, come on kiss meMechanical bladesAnd address books with no names,It's the stories I tradeAnd knives wrapped in laceTonight I dream, I dream of New OrleansI'm coming home, I'm coming homeWe're spinningOut of control againBut the taste of the ocean floors and time will tell,Yeah, yeah, yeahOh, babyMaybe 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 skyI hope tonight I dieI hope tonight we dieI'm coming homeHomeTonight 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 OrleansI dream of New Orleans.