Detroit

Detroit

WRITTEN BY: CAMERON BLAKE

This one’s for the broken hearted few 
Like Melinda who forgot how to refuse 
The offer of a twin bed in a hotel room 
Where the curtains float like ghosts in front of you 

This one’s for the butcher on the row 
Who always wipes his chop board twice as slow 
When the angel with the pipe and the high cheekbones 
Presses her face against the glass of his shop window 

This one’s for the felon who was free 
Until he dropped the bag when he was 17 
Before a Detroit city police near the Packard building 
And tried to hop the fence that sent him to his knees 

In all the storefront churches hear them liftin’ up your name 
Drive the Greyhound to St. Ignace and get the hell out of my veins 

Oh, will your lover come home? 
Will your lover ever need you? 
Oh, will your lover come home? 
Will your lover ever need you again? 

This one’s written on the walls of fragile souls 
Where years are soaked to the bottom of the pillows 
Lying on the locker floor drippin’ cold 
Melinda’s singing softly to her plastic comb 

This one’s for the lion in the round 
Cornered in this circus of a town 
People hold up signs to try to shut you down 
But the bones are buried six feet underground 

Oh, will your lover come home? 
Will your lover ever need you? 
Oh, will your lover come home? 
Will your lover ever need you again? 

There are many out here among us 
In the city of October 
Where the auto plants sit heavy in the rain 

There are many out here among us 
Railroad ties and engines 
Aged like rusted out reminders of the Corktown trains 

In all the storefront churches hear them liftin’ up your name 
Drive the Greyhound to St. Ignace and kick the hell out of my veins 

Oh, will your lover come home? 
Will your lover ever need you? 
Oh, will your lover come home? 
Will your lover ever need you again?

 

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