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