Amsterdam - Gregory Alan Isakov

All inside our Amsterdam she hides

Watery eyes

That howling wind, she’s waving hi

Her other hand’s in mine

Oh silhouette

She’s growing tall and fine

She’s got my back

She’ll follow me down every street

No matter what my crime

All inside our Amsterdam she flies

Hoarding the kites

That howling wind, she’ll take everything

But she’s easy on the eyes

Well the churches and trains

Well they all look the same to me now

They shoot you some place

While we ache to come home somehow