He lived down by the farmhouse where the stray cats sleep at night, just a deck of cards, two fold out chairs, and the ghost of his wife. And the devil lived in his doorway, kept out the love and hope. He lived a long, long, long time, a long time ago.
He lost one yellow Sunday, when he reached into his throat and pulled out all the people that he had been and tried to choke. But together they overwhelmed him, and he couldn't help but explode. He lost a long, long, long time, a long time ago.
Asked a man in town, and they said he's lawless. Said he was strange, and he was all alone. No place to go, he went up in smoke.
Well he left in a hurry when the cops kicked in his door. He jumped out the second story, limped down the road and hijacked a car. He stuck his head out the broken window, and he howled like the devil's own. He left a long, long, long time, a long time ago.
Asked a man in town, and they said he's lawless. Said he was strange, and he was all alone. No place to go, he went up in smoke.
He flew right past the border, he ditched the car and dyed his hair. He took out his deck of cards for a couple last rounds of solitaire, and he slept just like a baby, though the night was hard and cold. He flew a long, long, long time, a long time ago.
When he passed through the devil's doorway, well he knew just where he was. He threw back his head and howled as he resigned himself to dust. And they found him in the Rio Fuerte. His body was still afloat. He passed a long, long, long time, a long time ago.