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of drunk reveriesaw him escorted out of a mets gameon network t.v.kept his head in the cloudswith any cheap high he could cullin his cancered impalaand his hog shirtsand his head tapes played dullhe lived in a company housein the pardeesville woodswith a stir crazy dogand a graveyard of old "jimmy" hoodssudays we'd run for his stashat the new york state linethat summer when moments ofcircumstance altered like wine(chorus)this is for the manthis is for the days that we killedwas it my wind of changeor just a breeze at the top of the hillhe didn't talk the gold ringhe just schemed for a skeleton keybut when you think you met thunderyou only see what your head wants to seehe threw back-mountain partiesfive deep at the "well"with his girlfriend, louise, who'd get litand tell us all "go to hell"then he'd get liquored upand throw me his keys and yell "drive"with him and louise in the backdoin' "american pie"he'd talk of out west over beerand the garbage that we ate'bout the punk band he'd managedin phoenix in '78i was this kid of sixteen the enamoredimpressionable kindin the poetic pull of the passionof life with the lines(chorus)he just disappeared that mid-augustnot even a shoutthen i red in the new that septemberthat his time had run outhow he tried to outrun a state trooperdown 93 southa charge of possession is why he fledsaid word of mouththe paper said nothin' was leftbut the seats and the frameand i read in the write-upfor the first time his real name;birthplace unknown, not from nowhereno close familyjust a wild running riverthat cut it too fast to the seai still raise a glass once a yearon the night that he diedthough hindsight sayshe only let me believe that we'd ridelord, he still taps a vein in my mindlike a summer rain coolslong after that river ran dryand reality ruled(chorus 2x)annalee11
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