Red Rose, Black, Words and Music By Brian McCaskill

Words and Music by Brian McCaskil

Prison Break

We can slip now cause the camera’s off
The watchman’s deaf and
His flashlight’s out of batteries.
So I ran across the street and pretended
I was busting out of prison
And it felt good, dodging strange lights.
Off in the distance, somewhere out there
I bet the birds sing praises to the sun and sky
But all I get to hear is sirens
And the tap-tap-tap of a blues man’s shoe
And a tin cup tap-tap-taping on these steel bars.
Somewhere there’s got to be a show going on this time of day
Or something good, just to look at
All I see is dirty laundry and postcards
From Philadelphia that say “sorry”
(they’ll turn to dust when I break down
the walls of Juarez and when Sheena shaves
her head).
Have they put handcuffs on your thumbs
So you can’t hitchhike out of there?
Nobody’s quite sure who the warden is here.
I hear he’s an artist and a bastard and he’s tall and lots of other things.
I won’t leave for good, I’ll just leave early.

October, 2002