Hobarts

Way back in the tall grass, last night I called home
I walked down to the rail yard in the misty grey dawn
Heaven showed me her mercy, threw my bag inside
From the Old Number Seven I watched the sunrise

I hear that bull coming, I pray he takes heed
My visions of mother are all that I see
That bull up in Cleveland gave me a broke arm
Dear Lord, let him spare me – I wish him no harm

My breath full of cinders, the wind blows me cold
The sounds of that freight train in my body are old
For twenty-three years now I’ve not seen my home
Tomorrow is Christmas and she’s all alone

Sunny Carolina, I’m wishing her back
‘Cross two thousand miles of standard gauge track
One last sip of whiskey to warm these old bones
We’ve just hit Kentucky and daylight I’m home

Sam Quinn (Benton, Tennessee – near Old Hop’s Hideout)