Whistles blowing, people get on trains Without knowing where they're going Someone's daughter, someone's sister Someone's teacher going down the road With a body and a handkerchief And a hatchet from an unspeakable crime But there's no one waiting for them There's no judgment down the line Banjos ring and chickens squaw And little babies crow And winter leaves and the spring unwinds And summer comes again, you know Pink is the color of my true love's dress And black is the color of her heart But I could never leave old Virginie And so we'll never part Ebony face, ebony nails Ebony coffin on the rails Moving south, C-O-D Going home to mother Some said for valor, for glory For treasure, for pride Sometimes brother hates brother So take a trip wherever your conscience has to roam It's much too hard to try to live a lie at home My boots are cracked with road dirt and asphalt Spit and broken dreams Chewing gum and safety pins All would hold me in at the seams My pegs are loose My screws too tightly wound to get in tune But I still try sometimes On those golden summer afternoons So take a trip wherever your conscience has to roam It's much too hard to try to live a lie at home There's a picture of an old black man in a beaver hat He wears a hidden smile and a pair of white spats Don't pretend you didn't notice his stare You're edgy and sweaty and loaded for bear The Skeleton's Dance tonight Bring your bottle and your boots And your mandolin that Bianca Alatorre Tried to shoot Ah but what's a bullet hole or two between friends? And who can say when the well goes dry Or where the story ends? So take a trip wherever your conscience has to roam It's much too hard to try to live a lie at home Hotel lives and hotel wives That come and go with the sheets But what's a marriage If it can't be held up to kitchen heat? Once I knew each valley and that beautiful shore But I don't go to the summer fair much anymore So take a trip wherever your conscience says to roam It's much too much to try and live a lie at home Your harmonica is blown, baby Throw it away Your denim shirt is ragged And your dirty collar is frayed I tried to play my horn for you But I couldn't seem to find a note So I picked up pen and paper And this is what I wrote Go take a trip wherever your conscience has to roam It's much too hard to try to live a lie at home