歌词
There ain’t no wage to be made here
Close kin to honest
So I cooked with my uncles
In this third flush of youth
He’s been off the grid since he left Roan Mountain
It’s a stubborn march towards decay
And I was born already dead
And just like you I hang my head
To study these dreams for signs of life
Our souls slip loose from body by night
Bound in the vines of grace
He picks the banjo of an evening
And sings like a panther in heat
Reads his tea leafs like tarot
And banks the fire before drifting off
And I ain’t seen hide nor hair of my old lady
Since she ran off with Jimmy the cop from up McCay’s Hill
I was born already dead
And just like you I hang my head
To study these dreams for signs of life
Our souls slip loose from body by night
Bound in the vines of grace
Police show for a good light
Uncle whom I forgave caught in the heel of time
And I ran like the dickens through the slack jaw pines
Saw it all flash before me as the vapor lamp burned
Through the dust of the shine
Jimmy and the low ground
Jimmy and the low ground
Jimmy and the low ground
Jimmy and the low ground
Written by: James Bradshaw
