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I don't know the sound of my father's voice |
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I don't even know how he says my name |
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But it plays out like a song on a jukebox in a bar |
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In the back of my head till it's worrying machine |
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And in the cotton fields out by the house where I was born |
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The leaves burn like effigies of my kin |
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The trains run like snakes through the Pentecostal pines |
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Filled up with cotton and dime store gin |
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Oh Jacksonville, how you burden my soul |
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How you hold all my dreams captive |
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Jacksonville, how you play with my mind |
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Oh my heart goes back, suffocating on the pines |
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In Jacksonville |
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The end, the end, the end |
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All the cars are lined up on a Saturday night |
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With a sky full of nothing but moon |
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And I lose my reflection in a bottle of wine |
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Till the morning comes down and I ain't nothing but you |
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At the diner in the morning for a plate of eggs |
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The waitress tries to give me change I say, "Nah, it's cool. Just keep it" |
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I read up my news, I start thinking about her |
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And I wonder if anybody here besides me has got any decent secrets |
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Oh Jacksonville, how you burden my soul |
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How you hold all my dreams captive |
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Jacksonville, how you play with my mind |
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Oh my heart goes back, suffocating on the pines |
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In Jacksonville |
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The end, the end, the end |
