Jeffrey Foucault Buckshot Moon
Buckshot moon, bloodshot heart
When are the good times going to start
Burned out mouth, a turned out light
It's a downhill road, it's an uphill fight
Smoke on the glass in a twilight town
Needle says empty but it's still going down
On a five bar street in a one church town
Twelve bar blues, frost on the ground
Hard time wind on the hill tonight
Main streets shining with Chistmas lights
In the skyline dusk in the dark come down
The seconds are broken but the hands go around
And the snowfall comes with nightfall black
Ice on the banks dust in the tracks
Sere and gray as embers and cold
But burning the branches are dreaming of gold
How long, how long
Until anything sets me on fire
How long, how long
Until I know
Possession from desire
