blah blah black sheep holding down the farm

she told me
"don't go in there"
and i listen like a child
wandering deaf through pig and pen to find another out here
but virginia isn't sweet enough
and bourbon kills the pain
i'm lying on the street corner and to myself again
when i say "everythings in order and i'm happy" its in vain
that's when you ought to expect vicious torrents of rain
but the balding eagle tires and the navel piercing soul and the bulls that infest china shops and rugs too thick to roll
there's a place for all us broken
and they check coats at the door
and when I find that little corner
i'll be sure i've got somewhere else to be
and i'll be wearing lengthy coat tails should you want to follow me