FREIGHT TRAIN TO NOWHERE
by Mark Heard
Miss misfortune sails down the rails with her brow to the windowpane.
The scenery that she sees in her soul doesn't match with the blur in her
brain. She can trace the tricks of the tracks like the ribs of a rattlesnake
'Til all her pastel chalk lines of fact are erased like a schoolgirl's
slate.
She is reading her own tattoos.
Her diary is the evening news.
She can't give a damn on cue,
On a freight train to nowhere.....
If she were not scorching the rails with the haste of a bolting ghost
There would be no reason to fear the death-rattle in the engine's throat.
She could call for the minicams or take up a gun or be politically
correct,
But that kind of justice still preys on the ones with the stones hung
around their necks.
She is reading her own tattoos.
Her diary is the evening news.
She can't give a damn on cue,
On a freight train to nowhere.....
She's heard it said by the drone in her head
That the wages of spend is debt.
She figures that's better than nothing to show for the years of tears
and sweat.
If she could put her hand on the brake of the land
Find the treason in the diesel and the smoke
She would jar the teeth of the dull and the meek and feed them the truth
until they choke.
She is reading her own tattoos.
Her diary is the evening news.
She can't give a damn on cue,
On a freight train to nowhere.....
From Satellite Sky
© 1991 Ideola Music/ASCAP
discover Mark Heard
http://www.pastestore.com/artist/10031
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