down the street on one leg, a major with a mouth, is standing on a corner, near a train to somewhere south, he whistles when he speaks, it's the only time he does, a petty two-bit thief, always in and out of love.
his eyes are bloody red, it's part of his routine, home for Sunday dinner, with a widow from beneath, a silver serpent tongue, a face meant for a mother's love, a murder in his pocket, with no skin to cover up.
ride, he rides, two-bit thief, train down South serpent tongue