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Tore Down Flat In Jackson
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Badlees
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1
Filthy and anonymous in Jackson, a dozen keys to nowhere in his hand
2
Black madonna, won't you change his luck and find him fifty grand?
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'Cause he's tore down, months from nowhere, with the day-to-day out of his hands
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One key fit the door to their apartment, another fit the business he let die
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A stray dog whines as the August rains turn naked ground to mud
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And he's tore down, feelin' nothin' but the third-rate spirits in his blood
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He's livin' for a ticket on the whiskey train
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The saddest thing's to see him venerate that ball and chain
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Roadhouse corn done cut his strings to somewhere, paper rich done met a ball of fire
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Black dog cloud done filled his head and drained him like a vampire
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Now he's tore down flat in Jackson with a daily gig in the backdrop choir
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He's livin' for a ticket on the whiskey train
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The saddest thing's to see him venerate that ball and chain
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A thick late August field of pigweed dances, a T.V. from the fillin' station's heard
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He's holdin' up the wall, the moment says it all without a word
16
Well, he's tore down, world stopped movin' when 'halfway to the label' claimed it cured
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