Brandi Carlile - Broken Horses

I wear my father's leather
On the inside of my skin
I'm a tried and weathered woman
But I won't be tried again

Don't think that you can come
For me without your Sunday best
You had better call your priest
And hope the devil gets the rest
Before I do
Oh, and I will do

I've worn the jester's bells
And I have vanished with the fools
I have worshiped at the altar of the
Puppet master's rule

I have held my tongue too many scenes
Before the final act
With my children in the cheap seats
And a zipper on my back
Thanks to you
No, thanks to you

Tethered in wide open spaces
In fields that lead for miles
Right into the barrel of a gun
Mendin' up your fences with my
Horses runnin' wild
Only broken horses know to run

Oh, I have ever so politely treaded softly for your praise
I have whispered through the tears
And pleaded sweetly to your face
It is time to spit you out
Like lukewarm water from my mouth

I will always taste the apathy
But I won't pass it down
Enough with you
You, you

Tethered in wide open spaces
In fields that lead for miles
Right into the barrel of a gun
Mendin' up your fences with my
Horses runnin' wild
Only broken horses know to run

Oh, I wear my father's leather
On the inside of my skin
I'm a tried and weathered woman
But I won't be tried again

Don't think that you can come
For me without your Sunday best
You had better call your priest
And hope the devil gets the rest
Before I do
Oh, and I will do

Tethered in wide open spaces
In fields that lead for miles
Right into the barrel of a gun
Mendin' up your fences with my
Horses runnin' wild
Only broken horses know to run