Eight days

18 November 2006

I’ve got rotgut in my belly
I’ve got fire in my head
I’ve got something in my soul you mustn’t see
I’ve seen fleeting signs of torrid crimes
And fucking in the streets
I’ve got nothing in my pockets
Except a dollar’s worth of sweets
But I’ve got you girl
And you’re a firefly fainting from the heat

I’ve been driving such a distance
That I near forgot my name
But I’ll race the clock, I’ll snort the road right off the map
And hear that humming in the air
It’s not the wheels, it’s in my bones
It’s daylight dreams and motel nights
And sleeping all alone
But I’m coming back girl
I’m eight days, nine hours from coming home

Eight days, I’m running home, running back home

You see the Bureau put me in a home
When I was just fourteen
I took the cane, I took the whip, I took the strap
And instead of cryin’ I turned to lyin’
Coz fiction works as good as truth
And Oswald killed the President Like JFK killed John Wilkes Booth
And you girl, You’re a rebel wrongin’ up a one way street

Eight days, I’m running home, running back home

Now everybody lies to me,
Sells candy-striped confections
In packages of crisp sincerity
But I got rhymes for modern times
A pure and true conceit
This path is paved with precious lies
That fall beneath my feet
And that’s a fact girl
That’s a tattoo to bear upon your back

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