| He stared at the skyline with a look of avarice
|
| He smelled the diesel of a passing train
|
| He fell with both hands still in his pockets
|
| Killed by the boom and washed away
|
| Oh no what a tragedy
|
| Say what you want about him
|
| I say goddamn
|
| He wasn’t no drug dealer momma
|
| He was a dancer
|
| With the dull eyes of a steer and a lions mane
|
| Bear me no public opinion it never answers
|
| Whatever intuition cannot explain
|
| Oh no what a tragedy
|
| Say what you want about him
|
| I’ll say goddamn
|
| No recognition by the state nor senate
|
| No epitaph to sing aloud his sweet name
|
| No fourteen stations and the nineteenth sonnet
|
| He weren’t no wealthy man but he was a man all the same
|
| Oh no what a tragedy
|
| Say what you want about him
|
| Oh no what a fucking tragedy
|
| Say what you want about him
|
| I say goddamn
|
| It weren’t the rain that killed him
|
| And it weren’t his muddy ears
|
| It weren’t the rain that killed him
|
| He was killed by the boom
|
| He was killed by the boom |