Jeffrey Foucault Train To Jackson
Dead before the sun could rise
I stole the silver off my lover’s eyes
Rolled out on the dark demise
Of midnight’s breaking day
Born full grown and raised up wild
All mortal bones and passions piled
Upon my head the blessed child
The father of the man
I cut my hair and caught a train to Jackson
I took a name and found the range
Where a voice will make no sound
I met a man he told me “Son,
I can see you’re on the run,
If you tell me where you’re going
I’ll tell you where you’re bound”
They put me off outside of town
A cold black rain was falling down
I lay my head on the red clay ground
And slept for a thousand years
I woke into a fever dream
Where silence talked and money screamed
And nothing was but only seemed
And no one seemed to care
I cut my teeth on the bread of pure temptation
I tried it all and I learned to fall
Like I would never hit the ground
I met a ghost who looked like me
I asked him, “Is it plain to see
Or is it hidden?”
But he never made a sound
I was a lion in the circus ring
A scarecrow dressed up like a king
Innocent of anything
Like love and going blind
So I set all my clothes on fire
Sold my soul to any buyer
Wrapped my heart in concertina wire
And showed it for a song
I cut and run I ran until I stumbled
I struck out alone a rolling stone
Forty days came up and down
I chased the river to the source
I met a girl on a pale horse
She pressed her fingers up against my lips
And I fell down dead and gone
