Monday, August 29, 2011


Is Harry Dean Stanton dead?
I don't know, I can't remember
Anyway, that's what I heard someone said
He got shot by a man with a grudge in a motel
In a warm, dry climate sometime 
            around Christmas
Or maybe it was in late September

Where is Robert Johnson's grave
And how come he ain't buried there?
When you think of all the lives he's saved
Couldn't someone have took a little more care?
Jealous lovers get to pick their poison
Hellhounds never lose a trail
Life ain't fair, and the devil plays a bone fiddle
Sometimes dyin' must feel like bustin' out of jail

David Thompson never said goodbye
Don't you wonder where he went?
The only man who could ever truly fly
The money gone, the talent spent
You pay a price to go so high
One day he just kept on going, all the way up, into the sky

I got a letter this morning
What do you think it said?
I got an e-mail this morning
How do you think it read?
It said, Better hurry, hurry
One you love is dead

There was this man I used to see
He begged coins and dollars outside the little grocery store
It was hard to really tell but he looked pretty old to me
He was weatherbeaten and a long time ago he'd stopped keeping score
Even so if you looked at him strange or didn't speak to him right
He'd want to know why you went and did that for
Sometimes he was drunk, sometimes he was crazy
I never see him anymore
And his people out there called him the Spanish nigger
Go figure

Are there ditches where you are, Billy Martin?
Do you still need a run, more middle relief
Someone to drive 
And a safe place to drink?
They all said you were a miserable son-of-a-bitch
I never did care what they think

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