Birmingham

I wish I was a painter

Charcoal and Buffalo

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 restaurant

Bought her pretty clothes and diamonds

The guy was born to be her man

We were more than commentary

For a cheap 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 you wept with tears

Of the people's 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