Knock-Kneed Ballerina - Live

With an anonymously-wadded five-dollar tip
 We tossed a hundred down the tank and we let'r rip
 Down that interstate where our own Eisenhower
 Slung the chains around our brains with our own sweat
 I may not or I may hang my hat in a Section 8
 Yeah but I'm at home within, without a dime or naked
 Ah, but there's some achin' in my veins that I just can't figure
 That kills and fills me like a slow black coffee-drip
 As we retrace the dream of a knock-kneed ballerina
 Stone-cold twistin' out our twilight patina
 In her pin-drop parlour down south of Nowhere
 Floatin' on the edge
 Well we played a little two-bit room last night outside of Atlanta
 Watched a cover band do one long line off of Mustang Sally
 Well it wasn't too debonair between there and Chattanooga
 But when I heard that night-train
 screech man I was double-sure I was human
 He said:
 "All aboard! Ye with little holes in your jeans!
 Hop on the off-chance that your wife's a-gonna turn out mean!"
 Well if you don't pay me what I need to wear a shirt of chambray
 It'll suit me fine to take your taxes on that third-shift holiday
 Retracing the dream of a knock-kneed ballerina
 Stone-cold twistin' out a twilight patina
 In her pin-drop parlour down south of Nowhere floating on the edge