Tracks

  • Hudson Line

I’ll blame any ol’ thing.
But you haven’t left me
from New York to Poughkeepsie,
out into the sea
where the Hudson runs through
a cold iron engine,
of old fashion values
you couldn’t hold true.

Like the levy that breaks
from cracks in the damn,
like the willow that bends
its roots till the sand.
But you can’t understand
where the ripples began,
but it hurts all the same
to see her hold another man’s hand.

I’ll tell any ol’ lie,
but I couldn’t betray you.
My pride and my virtues
have stunt my disease.

I’m not the bravest of men,
but I’ve owned Staten Island
with a flag and an ink pen,
a small price for the free.

Like the levy that breaks
From cracks in the damn,
like the willow that bends
its roots till the sand.
But you can’t understand
where the ripples began,
but it hurts all the same
to see her hold another man’s hand.

The most restless of years,
the cotton grew thicker.
The roosters were pickin’
an’ ate the hen’s grain.

And you cherished me once
when business was booming,
our warm blood consuming
the body’s terrain.

Like the levy that breaks
from cracks in the damn,
like the willow that bend
its roots till the sand.
But you can’t understand
where the ripples began,
but it hurts all the same
to see her hold another man’s hand.

Don’t look at me moon,
leave me in shadows
and the sound of railroad
will drown out her tune.

Oh, this broken ol’ car
from New York to Poughkeepsie –
it cannot change me,
then why’d it have to change you?