Filthy and Anonymous in Jackson, a Dozen Keys to Nowhere in His Hand
Black Madonna, Won't You Change His Luck and Find Him Fifty Grand?
'cause He's Tore Down, Months From Nowhere,
With the Day-to-day Out of His Hands
One Key Fit the Door to Her Apartment, Another Fit the Business He Let Die
A Stray Dog Whines As the August Rains Turn Naked Ground to Mud
And He's Tore Down, Feelin' Nothin' But the Third-rate Spirits in His Blood
He's Livin' For a Ticket On the Whiskey Train
The Saddest Thing's to See Him Venerate That Ball and Chain
Roadhouse Corn Done Cut His Strings to Somewhere,
Paper Rich Done Met a Ball of Fire
Black Dog Cloud Done Filled His Head and Drained Him Like a Vampire
Now He's Tore Down Flat in Jackson With a Daily Gig in the Backdrop Choir
He's Livin' For a Ticket On the Whiskey Train
The Saddest Thing's to See Him Venerate That Ball and Chain
A Thick Late August Field of Pigweed Dances,
a Tv From the Fillin' Station's Heard
He's Holdin' Up the Wall, the Moment Says It All Without a Word
Well, He's Tore Down, World Stopped Movin'
When 'halfway to the Label Claimed It Cured