127 rose avenue

somewhere in the cradle of the deep south

magnolias sway in the breeze

to the lonesome sound of a red boned hound;

howlin' at the moon and the trees. there's a sad eyed boy

with his guitar;

cuttin' his teeth on the blues. wishin' on a falling star

at 127 rose avenue

the distant moan of a midnight train

comes blowin' through the night. he dips his pen in tears and pain;

and he begins to write. bout a whippoorwill too blue to fly

and the indian he once knew. bout lost highways

and purple skies;

at 127 rose avenue. caretaker said as he shook his head

son to you believe in ghosts?