Underneath the Tallahassee Bridge
I could not
Recognize his voice,
When I made this choice,
To sell my soul to the devil
I suppose, he wears the right clothes
We met underneath the Tallahassee Bridge
He plays a mean red fiddle, with a whiskey smile
With an Irish Jig, we dance down this road of life and death
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2008
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