Drinking from a paper bag, well... in that part of town
Neck seems lazy as his head nods down to the ground
His talk was like a tap dancers feet
But you see his skin was thick somewhere past concrete
He speaks of his buddies in the cross fire
Jungle heat, tripwire
And the love letters that he aquired from the girl
Days are full of musty silence
Nights he's down on 3rd
There's a pool room, I met him there
These are stories that I heard
He speaks of the truck stops
His bad eye
And pickin a fight with the wrong guy
And the phone calls without reply from the girl
Tryin' to seek her out
By divin' in
But she's gone
He speaks of the truckstops
The cornfields
The pocket knife he used to wield
I wonder whats the name he never revealed of the girl
Burnt down desires
And nicotine escapes
Cuz' dragons breathe fire
But now its too late