by M. Walker, E. Walker
I was sleeping in New York City,
Where the buildings crumble to the sky.
I dreamt a man had come to call on you;
I woke up, and I shot him through the eye.
Looked up and noticed his intention —
Lord he smelled like grenadine.
Though you don’t believe a word I say,
Don’t you smile, Evangaline.
I cut my hair, and rode out to Acworth
On a freight train, bullwhip at my side.
Put my faith in old St. Christopher,
Let me ride, sweet Jesus, let me ride.
Two years and three days out in Deacon,
Eating cornbread soaked in kerosene,
Till the dogs, had come to tell their tale,
Rescue me, Evangaline.
You know those bars? They all look the same here.
All we talk of is the way it used to be.
In my cell I’ve still got your picture,
So I guess that means you still belong to me.
Lay down your sweet head on my shoulder;
Break my heart — but make it clean.
Put it back, and kiss the world goodnight,
I love you, Evangaline.