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?