Tore down flat in jackson

Filthy and anonymous in jackson, a dozen keys to nowhere in his hand Black madonna, won't you change his luck and find him fifty grand? 'cause he's tore down, months from nowhere, with the day-to-day out of his hands One key fit the door to their apartment, another fit the business he let die A stray dog whines as the august rains turn naked ground to mud And he's tore down, feelin' nothin' but the third-rate spirits in his blood He's livin' for a ticket on the whiskey train The saddest thing's to see him venerate that ball and chain Roadhouse corn done cut his strings to somewhere, paper rich done met a ball of fire Black dog cloud done filled his head and drained him like a vampire Now he's tore down flat in jackson with a daily gig in the backdrop choir He's livin' for a ticket on the whiskey train The saddest thing's to see him venerate that ball and chain A thick late august field of pigweed dances, a t.v. from the fillin' station's heard He's holdin' up the wall, the moment says it all without a word Well, he's tore down, world stopped movin' when 'halfway to the label' claimed it cured