filthy and anonymous in jackson, a dozen keys to nowhere in his hand black madonna, won\'t you change his luck and find him fifty grand? \'cause he\'s tore down, months from nowhere, with the day-to-day out of his hands
one key fit the door to their apartment, another fit the business he let die a stray dog whines as the august rains turn naked ground to mud and he\'s tore down, feelin\' nothin\' but the third-rate spirits in his blood
he\'s livin\' for a ticket on the whiskey train the saddest thing\'s to see him venerate that ball and chain
roadhouse corn done cut his strings to somewhere, paper rich done met a ball of fire black dog cloud done filled his head and drained him like a vampire now he\'s tore down flat in jackson with a daily gig in the backdrop choir
he\'s livin\' for a ticket on the whiskey train the saddest thing\'s to see him venerate that ball and chain
a thick late august field of pigweed dances, a t.v. from the fillin\' station\'s heard he\'s holdin\' up the wall, the moment says it all without a word well, he\'s tore down, world stopped movin\' when \'halfway to the label\' claimed it cured
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