Rusted, crusty, mossy, and blue
Hearing Waylon channel Shaver
Sweet, low-down freedom
Makes me want to come join you
Wanderlust got me itchin’
Dancing around on the farm
A canary in a coalmine
Carbon monoxide twitchin’
Shimmery shadows in my mind
See the way they play
Among the distant stars
Hoping they become aligned
Days dragging on the doldrums
Feeling Punxsutawney Phillip
Gathering foreign currency
Rubbing limes on my gums
Scurvy, shyster, bastard rats
Tumbling dice, fumbling stock
Empty shell, soup-kitchen dreams
Following far flung expats
Caverns of knowledge follow
Buried beyond golden sunsets
Color shifting spectrum horizon
Purest promises ring hollow
Heartless beast with empty head
Breaks the bars on cages
Before death comes raging
Shed these shoes of lead
