The Shadows of Crescent Street

There’s a house down by the riverbend,

They call the Lantern’s Glow,

It’s broken hearts a thousand times,

And mine is one, I know.

My mama worked her weary hands,

She stitched the cloth with care,

My father lost his waking hours,

To cards and smoke-filled air.

The only prize the drifter holds,

Is a pack and ragged coat,

And the only peace he ever finds,

Is drowning in his throat.

So mothers guard your daughters,

And fathers guide your sons,

Keep them far from hunger’s pit,

And the Shadows of Crescent Street.

The only prize the drifter holds,

Is a pack and ragged coat,

And the only peace he ever finds,

Is drowning in his throat.

Now one boot’s on the platform edge,

The other on the train,

It pulls me back to Crescent Street,

To wear that chain again.

The only prize the drifter holds,

Is a pack and ragged coat,

And the only peace he ever finds,

Is drowning in his throat.

There’s a house down by the riverbend,

They call the Lantern’s Glow,

It swallowed up the best of me,

And mine is one, I know.