Birmingham

I wish I was a painter
Charcoal and
Or a presidential motorcade
Where the cops just come and go
Return me to the station
A box and empty bag
Fall asleep watching the twister
In some broken down hotel in Birmingham
'Cause I wish I was a calendar
Numbers and good names
Variating slightly
But only the pictures ever change
Mark me and return to sender
I’m like a letter without a stamp
I wasn’t written to be read
And I am sleepless in this bed
In some broken down hotel in Birmingham
Held her hand in Old Savannah
Marigold print on her dress
Her hair was combed and parted
Like a beautiful princess
I didn’t see you at the altar
Way back then you were so drunk
You were washed up on some hooker’s bed
Behind a shitty restaurants
Bought her pretty clothes and diamonds
The guy was born to be her man
We were more than commentary
For a
headline grab
So when the wind blows in your window
'Cause the storm don’t give a damn
Pray the window don’t break
Across the wrist of your writing hand
On a stationary
With the tears of the peoples backs you stab
When you’re hiding like a robber
With no one’s purse to grab
Remember me standing there holding out my hand
In a broken down hotel in Birmingham