Form a ring and wind and twine
|
Round the ol' grape vine
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Heavy on the wire from the house
|
Salt the cow and kill the calf
|
Meet yer lonesome with a once and a half
|
Gent¹s on the east and ladies on the south
|
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The solemn boy carries his silver damage
|
Sold but for, the number and the image
|
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His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems
|
Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins
|
Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure
|
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When he sings he slurs
|
& uses the meat of his thigh
|
T¹hold the book he wrote when he was lame
|
So wrapped up in his flat baritone
|
No castrato could woo him in from the rain
|
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For he never raised his voice when his britches
|
Was spillin¹ over with that honey truck richness
|
|
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His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems
|
Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins
|
Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure
|
|
Well the stylus hit the patches
|
As he spit on the splashes
|
& sought out the scratches in the vinyl
|
'Neath a needle topped with nickels
|
To keep the tunes a-goin'
|
Cracklin', croonin' & crowin'
|
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Multi-colored, hard-boiled & hidden
|
In the corners, with the dogs rusty remnants
|
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His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems
|
Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins
|
Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure
|
|
-----------------
|
The Flat Baritone
|
Gourds |