Tin Can Life

There's a lot of things that can kill a man
There's a lot of ways to die
And all I see are empty graves around me
That dime store preacher's speakin' proud
Of different ways to count the cost
And all the while he's hoping to collect me

That cut-throat gospel-man is spittin' loud
His soap box high above the crowd
Tellin' us the way we should be livin'
He talks about the mountaintops
The hills he's gonna climb
But all I see is a winding road behind him

I've got nothin' cept what's been handed down
Some worn out boots and a busted brow
Just enough to see the walls that stand before me
There's trouble in the smoke and gin
There's trouble in the pints
I'm just lookin' for a different way to feel it

I'm a broken flea market aristocrat
I'm a pusher and a hungry thief
And I've been sellin' my own soul to any takers
I've been runnin' from the fickle crowd
From hopes and dreams and tattered doubt
They'll never catch me looking back behind em'

The window pane is full of haunting eyes
They see me often passing by
Looking for a place that understands me
I'll keep runnin' till they cut me down
My feet'll never touch the ground
Until the day the sickle comes and finds me

The ending doesn't make the man
As much as hate or lyin' can
I've done my share of both and I'm still breathin'
That knife will finally find its way
Or bullet scribbled with my name
My skin and bones and blood they're all waitin'

I'll be alone my dying day
Returning back to dust from clay
My story written there among the fables
A line or two to summarize
All this shit and hope and endless plight
Enough to send me to another stable

I've been bucking here spittin' steam
Gathering all the things I've gleaned
Hoping for a chance to meet my maker
I've been looking for a plot of land
Another place to make my stand
I hope I've got somethin' over there a-waitin'

When this final breath leaves my teeth
And makes it way among the trees
I hope I gave enough for me to make it
I pray I'll finally find relief
From all this burning empty grief
And all the things I've scattered on the table

At the bottom of a old pine box
There's a pillow and a pocket watch
Both are ready, waitin' for me to fill em'
I'll gladly let em' lay me down
These boots and chains and bloody crown
I'll sleep forever underneath the maples

The leaves, the breeze, will speak to me
The water and the broken knee
Will fall richly there upon me.
In the hallowed ground I've scratched my name
Written deep with pain and wrath and shame
I'm leavin' nothing with em' but a shadow