| Newspaper boy making his rounds
|
| Spreading the word all over town
|
| Driving his car just as fast as it will go There’s papers in the driveway, papers in the yard
|
| Paper broke a window, he didn’t throw it that hard
|
| But it shattered like a dream, down in the valley below
|
| Hey quarter moon, well how was your night
|
| Yeah well, any minute now God’s gonna hit them brights
|
| So if you stick around don’t say that you weren’t told
|
| Well, take it from me, you better grab your shades
|
| And if he looks at you, well try not to look so afraid
|
| Just do the best that you can, but don’t think that he won’t know
|
| Creosote’s dripping from the high line poles
|
| Fast as you can count 'em, 12 in a row
|
| Blessed accommodations, for the daily observations of a crow
|
| Well, that cat down there, yeah, well he’s Louie the Flea
|
| He’s married to a waitress by the name of Lora Lee
|
| When they scream and they holler, man they put on a show
|
| He’s a protected witness from a Detroit job
|
| Turned his best friend in, his name is Bob
|
| I know who got the time, but who do you think got the dough
|
| Take a look at that pilgrim, passing by He’s looking for love, I can see it in his eyes
|
| He’s running 'round in circles, you can take it from me His shadow begs for mercy of every lost and found
|
| In city after city, town after town
|
| Tortured by the memory of a love he thought was supposed to be Creosote’s dripping from the high line poles
|
| Fast as you can count 'em, 12 in a row
|
| Blessed accommodations, for the daily observations of a crow
|
| I’m a genuine scoopologist, the name is Crow
|
| Sitting up here, watching the show
|
| In this one horse, drive-thru, forsaken, dried up piece of the world
|
| Well, it ain’t much but it’s my kingdom, it’s my home
|
| Even had a queen till that parakeet came along
|
| Fast talking, loud squawking, green feathered scrak took my girl…
|
| Later |