Sunday, March 19, 2017

Promised Land, 18 March 2017

Still brown-eyed, still handsome
Still mean as a cottonmouth
Bitter, wary, watchful
Of the new north and the old south

Suitcase packed, guitar, a car
A clean shirt, cash, a gun
Things you can put your faith in
When you can't trust anyone

No woman, no disciple, fan
Friendship is only words
Just pick-up bands, a half-hour set
And Johnnie Johnson's chords

Like Johnnie, never too bad
Never good, you were the best
Motorvating over that hill
Leaving behind the rest

Gone now; vicious, suspicious
Owed by a million bands
Poor boy forever on the line
Exiled from the Promised land

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