Train to Jackson - Jeffrey Foucault

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