From The Recordings Html


Young mother sat on musty motel bed with St. Gideon in her lap
Bargaining with God that she’d drop the pipe for exchange for the boy
I dealt a pair of fives the night before and found the missing link
Why Painted Face met me under the Pasadena Oak, I’ll never know

Oh we hocked the farm to pay the bank and bury the dead
While the topsoil waned and the cancer spread
Three nickels for a pack of smokes

Santa Rosa holds the scent of smoldering tortoise shells
But duty calls the rabid desert to carry the bitter lead
We made love against the granite as Mojave rattlers judge

Broken hearts and damaged cherries on broken land
And why you love me