| Well, Double R.J. |
| is older now, he stays up watching the night snow fall
|
| Black bound book on the table, dusty beside card tricks and games
|
| Yeah, one by one he cuts the names from the back of the daily news
|
| Laying side by side they make quite a company of men
|
| Yeah, and all the things they’ve done and not done, glaring under the scope
|
| Double R.J.'s mom, she called this morning, all is well back home
|
| ?And how are you today, my son?, «Fine, ma, I’m fine»
|
| Seventeen pages set in place for a back line of memories
|
| Yeah, the new one’s fighting for space and concern
|
| Walter winks across the cue
|
| ?My folks are goin' out today, I’ve got some weed, are you comin'??
|
| And it’s twenty four years later, the movie lot’s still intact
|
| Tables buried under truck bones and machine shop tools
|
| Well, Walter hasn’t found his way from the park yet to page eighteen
|
| Oh, and all those girls, God, what were their names?
|
| Should’ve kept their pictures
|
| It’s starting to blur on Double R.J., they’re rolling into one
|
| Except for Elvin the snake and Indian George
|
| And the guy you couldn’t scare
|
| And then first kiss on the playground bought with sister’s stolen ring
|
| So the odd discomfort shawl, drapes it across his bony wings
|
| As the loss of honest vision seers, pioneers and double dares
|
| Set your clothes on fire if you ever breathed a word
|
| And Double R.J. |
| falls backwards, he can see further away
|
| And Double R.J. |
| falls backwards, he can see further and further away |