the rust on the corn belt,

compell’s good news

of punishing faith

in glowing justice,

triumphantly in the undergrounds,

blooming gardens so supreme.

1. this is the key

that ya make me see,

to check out

from this hotel

after knockin’ on this door,

to take a trip

down a memory trail mix,

in the  rhythmics

of life’s kicks.

chorus:

ya got me fallin’

next to this guitar

leavin’ this song.

2. give me what ya got,

to hit this spot,

with leavin’ candles burnin’

in these rundown hotel windows

of this early mornin’

catchin’ a rainbow

cuz cuz i’m carryin’ your hangover

in the hangouts

of your whereabouts

in a pop country crush.

chorus:

ya got me fallin’

next to this guitar

leavin’ this song.

hey girl –

it’s a flirtation,

in the surrender

of the s&p index,

from erie to la

on summertime decks

in the counter fits

of cornhole games,

leaving a fix

in the usual politics,

serving up ther drinks,

for a bunch of sore losers,

like an old harpster,

jamming in the strings

from a dust covered guitar,

with another send off,

in a sneak kiss,

in a long lost –

stuck in the mud-

to seize a buck,

in this shake it down,

bandit in this town.