Down the street on one leg,
a major with a mouth,
is standing on a corner,
near a train to somewhere south,
he whistles when he speaks,
it's the only time he does,
a petty two-bit thief,
always in and out of love.

his eyes are bloody red,
it's part of his routine,
home for Sunday dinner,
with a widow from beneath,
a silver serpent tongue,
a face meant for a mother's love,
a murder in his pocket,
with no skin cover up.

ride, he rides,
two-bit thief,
train down South
serpent tongue