From the recording Line, Rope, Etc.


A scorching August brings a dry September
Lost souls on parade in a forgotten small town
Country store down on Main Street smells of tobacco and sweat
Ceiling fan spins useless round and round
And the Yankees pass through on their way to the coast
Taking pictures and buying spice ginger ale
Old guitar on the wall ain't for nothing but show
Sorry, mister, but she ain't for sale

Flags, flowers and Bibles
Roadside revivals
Everyone wants to be saved
Searching for Jesus
Trying to pawn off our sins
Somewhere in the home of the brave

Old man behind the counter gives a yellow toothed smile
He spits in an old coffee can
He eyes all the town folk on that Main Street mile
Birds of a feather with a bird in hand
And he brown bags his whiskey and he stares at the moon
Thinks of younger days and his woman
They both left him too soon
He holds up his head as he holds back the tears
Lets the night pass him by like the breeze