How many times have I heard In the South they just don't work Lazy angels spill time And use lives as I would mine Pouring out of windows Like strange flags, come clean clothes Spit-free sediment sweep dives From broom-kept porch in no time, no time Now the sun strips that same sidewalk With the day-dried test of small talk She walks quick, fresh, with clean, black crease
and navigates this mess with protected ease Does she leave? Does she leave? Does she come home? Where does she sleep? But somehow the gate's not right A face stripped of something since last night Can you sustain that same smile at a store or a job? And what's such a rush that would let you be robbed? Do you leave? Do you leave? Do you come home?