filthy and anonymous in jackson, a dozen keys to nowhere in his hand
black madonna, won't you change his luck and find him fifty grand?
'cause he's tore down, months from nowhere,
with the day-to-day out of his hands
one key fit the door to her apartment, another fit the business he let die
a stray dog whines as the august rains turn naked ground to mud
and he's tore down, feelin' nothin' but the third-rate spirits in his blood
he's livin' for a ticket on the whiskey train
the saddest thing's to see him venerate that ball and chain
roadhouse corn done cut his strings to somewhere,
paper rich done met a ball of fire
black dog cloud done filled his head and drained him like a vampire
now he's tore down flat in jackson with a daily gig in the backdrop choir
he's livin' for a ticket on the whiskey train
the saddest thing's to see him venerate that ball and chain
a thick late august field of pigweed dances,
a tv from the fillin' station's heard
he's holdin' up the wall, the moment says it all without a word
well, he's tore down, world stopped movin'
when 'halfway to the label claimed it cured
