She sees the world through yellowing lace
The world hasn't seen her since seventy-eight
Except for the nephew who used to look in
To bring her, her chocolate and tonic and gin
She lives in one room of a mansion downtown
With nothing but strip bars and strip malls around
It used to be three miles to those big stone gates
'Til property taxes just whittled it away
She believes somehow that nothing has changed
Even though Sherman left Georgia in flames
Cotton's still king and the south didn't fall
As long as wisteria climbs up the wall
She won't read the paper and won't watch the news
She thinks it's all lies made up by New York Jews
Her daddy said no matter what the laws say
Down here we've always done things our own way
Some day that petrified house will fall down
Like everything it will return to the ground
Whatever it stood for will all be condensed
To one paragraph on a plaque by the fence