Kate spilled one tear inside my leather bag.
She said, “Steer clear of older girls.”
Mom said, “Don’t drink.” Dad would not look at me,
but in my coat, I found his hundred-dollar bill.
I told them I’d die down there before I’m coming home
without this voice and fiddle on the radio.
My fingers smell like my first cigarette.
It spread my lungs an hour ago.
Now I remember where the money went—
drinks for some girl from Idaho.
I told her I’d die down here before I’m going home
without this voice and fiddle on the radio.
It’s my third night down here in Tennessee.
My place: one room without a phone.
Man saw my fiddle case and winked at me,
“Son, ain’t you heard them Rollin’ Stones?”
I told him I’d die down here before I’m going home
without this voice and fiddle on the radio.
Street corner preacher turned his eyes on me.
He told me I’d die down here before I’m going home.
Copyright 2001. All rights reserved.