It’s 9th and Hennepin,

All the doughnuts have names that sound like prostitutes,

And the moon’s teeth marks are in the sky, like a tarp thrown all over this.

And broken umbrellas like dead birds,

the steam comes out of the grill like the whole Goddamned town is ready to blow.

And the bricks are all scarred with jailhouse tattoos,

And everyone is behaving like dogs.

And horses are coming down Violin Road, Dutch is dead on his feet,

And all the rooms, they smell like diesel and you take on the dreams of the ones who slept there.

And I’m lost in the window, and I hide in the stairway, I hang in the curtain and I sleep in your hat.

And no one brings anything small into a bar around here.

They all started out with bad directions.

And the girl behind the counter has a tattooed tear, one for every year he’s away, she said.

Such a crumbly beauty… there’s nothing wrong with her a hundred dollars won’t fix.

She has that razor sadness that only gets worse with the clang and the thunder of the Southern Pacific going by,

And the clock ticks out like a dripping faucet,

‘til you’re full of ragwater, bitters and blue ruin.

And you spill out over the side to anyone who’ll listen.

I’ve seen it all.

I’ve seen it all through the yellow windows of the evening train.

Keith the Retard Posted:

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lol, baby-steps tolling, isn’t it cute?