Ransom slashed,
Half past eleven,
Nobody sees ya,
Man ain’t got no time for that.

Slow ride east,
Omaha,
Left train,
Gone,
Half past twelve,
On the Eastern track,
Going nowhere fast,
Lost my mind,
To a bottle of Jack,
July 10th, 1953,
In a waste paper basket,
Filled with fleas,
Flees?

Resume broken,
No jobs,
For two years,
Except shoveling coal,
And other stuff,
Five years to life,
Chasing broken dreams,
Drinking those shattered bottles to dream.

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