He was young when I came
And smoked like a Vestal flame
With one way mirrored eyes, his windows failed me
Now every time I see that sun go down
I feel the shadows of this town cut across me
Down in Rensselaer
Nothings’ quite clear
You might cross the plane
But “gone” can mean a lot of things
I might be wrong
But I saw the slow season coming on strong
Waiting for some company man to can me
And like a sponge for the gin
There grew a beard over every chin
From Jesses James to John ****in’ Henry
All along the coast
Lie the mutinied ghosts
Of men recognizable only by the state of their hearts
You’ll break your own in time
