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The End
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I don't know the sound of my father's voice I don't even know how he says my name But it plays out like a song on a jukebox in a bar In the back of my head till it's worrying machine And in the cotton fields out by the house where I was born The leaves burn like effigies of my kin The trains run like snakes through the Pentecostal pines Filled up with cotton and dime store gin Oh Jacksonville, how you burden my soul How you hold all my dreams captive Jacksonville, how you play with my mind Oh my heart goes back, suffocating on the pines In Jacksonville The end, the end, the end All the cars are lined up on a Saturday night With a sky full of nothing but

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