Filthy and anonymous in jackson, a dozen keys to nowhere in his hand
Black madonna, wont you change his luck and find him fifty grand?
cause hes tore down, months from nowhere, with the day-to-day out of his hands
One key fit the door to their apartment, another fit the business he let die
A stray dog whines as the august rains turn naked ground to mud
And hes tore down, feelin nothin but the third-rate spirits in his blood
Hes livin for a ticket on the whiskey train
The saddest things 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 hes tore down flat in jackson with a daily gig in the backdrop choir
Hes livin for a ticket on the whiskey train
The saddest things to see him venerate that ball and chain
A thick late august field of pigweed dances, a t.v. from the fillin stations heard
Hes holdin up the wall, the moment says it all without a word
Well, hes tore down, world stopped movin when halfway to the label claimed it cured
