John Philip Griffith

He was a simple man only to a stranger

And the kindness in his eyes

I still remember

Now that he is old

They say he's angry and he's cold

That his soul is dying

He's a wealthy man's dream

And he's a working man's dime

He has stood in both men's shoes

In his own damn time

The hard times of the thirties

Still linger in his mind

When he is lonely

He's out there in the cold

Twenty years away from home

Does he dream about his old home

In San Antone?

He's often watched the highways

But he's a man of sixty-five

Where ain't a soul in El Paso

Who would give an old drunk a ride

Now, he traded in his draftsman's pen

For a fishing pole

And his mansion on the hill

Is an alley in El Paso

The anchors of the fifties

Still hold to broken dreams

When his sorrows grow

He's out there in the cold

Twenty years away from home

Does he dream about his old home

In San Antone?

He's often watched the highways

But he's a man of sixty-five

There ain't a soul in El Paso

Who would give an old drunk a ride

Now, they tell me that John Philip

Loved to gamble in his day

And he burned his bridges well

When he walked away

He closed those corporate doors

Left his children and his home

Now no one owns him