Jumping Boxcars In Dixie

Back when things mattered
they'd call me a dreamer.
They'd say I was a vagabond.
Back when things mattered
I'd hop a train.
I'd see the infestation
from coast to coast.
I met a woman once,
she said I was a tiger trapped in a cage.
Said I had the killer instinct,
but I'd become dull.
Back when things mattered
I wouldn't bother making a difference.
I'd sit in that boxcar and think
of Hemingway.
I'd read the forgotten poetry
the Indians wrote in the land.
Back when things mattered
they'd try to shame me for not joining their war.
But that would be fine by me because
I'd remember that woman;
and the way she'd describe my brown eyes.
I'd remember her say...
I was a jungle cat in disguise.
I'd rip her to shreds
and feast on her words.
At night when I'm in the boxcars
with the wino-s who snore and groan
I think of that woman.
Somehow I think she knows
I made it out.