you don't want to soil your tie

alone at dawn
you don't know when she rose
with her hair brilliant black
but she's never coming back
and that's a probable fact
you're left with an open book
you're still squirming on the hook
hung up with an ugly history
it's part of your story
inside a hole of imagined glory
old cotton-picking shoes
and delta blues
it's seldom what you read in the evening news
sipping coffee and tea shipped all the way from China
you don't want to soil your tie
eating mouthfuls of Motherland and apple pie
you never wonder why
it's always other people's children who die!
four score and a house of dedicated brick
it's a battlefield where everyone is getting sick
take your pick:
Indians with their tents
landlords collecting their rents
junkyards with dents
kings and presidents
you're climbing the border fence
eight miles high and still no end in sight
you have your own kite
red and blue and pearly white
the string is tight
you think it's your birthright
alone at dawn
you don't know when she rose
with her hair brilliant black
but she's never coming back
and that's a probable fact
you're left with an open book
you're still squirming on the hook
hung up with an ugly history
it's part of your story
inside a hole of imagined glory
old cotton-picking shoes
and delta blues
it's seldom what you read in the evening news
sipping coffee and tea shipped all the way from China
you don't want to soil your tie

eating mouthfuls of Motherland and apple pie
you never wonder why
it's always other people's children who die!